Friday, March 19, 2010

De-Queen of De-clutter

My sister-in-law crowned me De-Queen of de-clutter as I'm clearing out yet more clutter from my physical space and my mind.


I’m running low on body lotions and shampoo. Naturally I want to go out and buy some more but lo and behold when I opened up my linen closet there they were stacks of toiletries: complimentary free samples received with the purchase of other items, tubes of partially used foot care products and most numerous of all - toiletries collected from hotels and motels over the years. Some, as you see in the basket on the left have been sitting "artfully" on top of the toilet - only they just look like clutter when you get down to it. The other basked I pulled out from the closet and there's still more in there. I just kept adding to the pile – so what better time to start using them than now. Actually, it’s kind of fun and makes me feel pampered using these gifts kindly provided by the hospitality industry. In a few more weeks I’ll need to replenish my stock either by purchasing more or going away for another weekend vacation.


The back of my car no longer contains my juggling clubs - it took a lot of mind play to finally let them go. I kept remembering, with great fondness, the happy time around their purchase. Corny as it seems, Rod secured his first date with me using the pick up line “so, can you teach me how to juggle?” He got the idea when he saw me juggling for my future nephews and their parents; Rog (his brother) ask if I could teach his Beaver troop (Canadian version of the cub scouts, I think) to juggle. I agreed to take on both tasks. I had great success teaching the kids and Rod is finding that living with me is a constant juggling act.

But, the clubs needed to fly, not be relegated to being a decorative fixture in my house or ballast for my car. I dropped them off to the Burlington Re-use Centre and a few days later an 8-year old girl discovered them, begged and finally convinced her parents to buy them for her. Because, battered and scuffed as they were, she’d fallen in love with a dream. It was at that very moment that young, unfortunately named, Latisha LeFlamme’s life took a fateful turn from a pre-destined lifetime as a stripper working the seedy bars of Yonge street in Toronto to become the most popular headlining, juggling act of all time in Vegas. You can see her there in 2022. Can’t miss her billboard – she’s the one with flaming red hair, dressed in tails and black tights covering legs that seem to go on forever.

So knowing that Latisha is on track with her true destiny, due in no small part to me giving the clubs away, I breathe a sigh of relief.


I am facing my greatest fears and therefore ridding myself of mental clutter that creates resistance and keeps me from moving ahead. While working on the Mac the Time Machine was telling me that I needed to backup my files and was prompting me to do so. My finger hovered over the cancel option when I asked myself if not now, when? When will I be more willing to face this? NEVER! Not now and not ever. So I did.

A big Ho’oponopono to Derek the technical support guy who had to deal with me.

“I’m totally new to all of this. I mean I really, really don’t know a word that you’ll be saying to me. It is a like you’re going to be teaching me a new language… just warning you. O.K.?” And he was O.K. with it and it was O.K. too.

After something that went like this,

“No I’m sorry Derek. I know what you’re telling me but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.

If Time Machine will do it all for me do I really need this little box? …I do… it’s called a hard drive. O.K

I should see an icon of the hard drive on my desktop; ummm…what does it look like? Like a hard drive, oh you mean like the little box thingy. O.K. ... nope, nothing… And, my desktop is what exactly?

I need to turn it on? I thought it was on. No, it doesn’t have any lights or buttons…Oh wait, that thing, is that a button? They hide it really well don’t they?

Oh, is that what that’s for? Wait, wait I heard it. I think its working. Yup, there it goes. Oh, and there’s the icon too…"

Poor Derek. But I can hear the smile in his voice as he tells me they pay him well for what he does. I’m happy for him.

Actually, my fear is less about facing the computer stuff than it is about facing, or rather not facing, someone and being asked to follow directions. Talking to a disembodied voice feels somewhat like talking to a God-like all-powerful figure. I feel so insignificant and helpless; there’s no one to turn to when it’s just me and the person at the other end of the phone, but I’m learning that they hang in there and hash it out with me through thick or thin. Though I imagine it many times during our conversation, I’ve yet to have someone say “you’re hopeless” and hang up the phone. It's like they're saying, "we're all in there together," and I find this hugely reassuring.

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