Confessions of a Crap Stacker

 

Hello, my name is Izzy and I am a crap stacker. What sort of crap do I stack? Basically, all of the things I don't want to deal with. I find this to be an odd trait for someone who doesn't like clutter. However, "they" say that the first step to fixing a problem is acknowledging that you have one. So, I am taking steps to break myself of this habit.

I recently took the time to organize and file the pile of receipts from the vet's office that had been accumulating on my night stand for months. The entire process took less than an hour and left me with a clean nightstand. 

A few months ago we bought a new-to-us 2018 Toyota Tundra (Ruby the Big Red Truck) and gave our 15 year old Toyota Highlander to our daughter-in-law. Part of cleaning out the Highlander included dealing with the pile of paper crammed into the glove box. (My husband insisted we keep every receipt for anything involving the vehicle.) While the responsibility for the original stack belongs to my husband, responsibility for the second is all on me. I just took the stack of paper along with a variety of other items from the Highlander and shoved them in a reusable shopping bag which hung on the back of my dining room chair until last week. Going through the bag and separating items into Keep, Shred, and Toss piles took less than 15 minutes. The tossing and shredding also took less than 15 minutes. Another stack conquered in less than 30 minutes. 

Me and Ruby

 

I'm pretty proud of myself for starting to handle my stacks. I still have a couple to deal with and then I can tackle the last of the things that belonged to my parents. (I've gone through most of it but I'm now down to the things that I just don't know what to do with.) Now, if I can just teach myself to stop making the stacks to begin with. Baby steps Izzy. Baby steps.

Until next time, take care and happy reading!

 

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FLEETING, by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer

Artist, M. Boulanger unsigned

Spring has sprung. Here in Portland Oregon, the gardens are abundant with blossoms. Lilac, calendula, wisteria, snap dragons; even the roses have decided it’s close enough to June to show their pretty heads. The grass is green and growing like the weed it is. The foliage is fresh and new.

But as I ponder my back yard garden, I see brown creeping into the color. The lilacs are already fading; the hot-pink rhododendron poms are beginning to bleach. Azalea petals dangle from their filaments to fall and litter the ground. The hyacinths and daffodils that started this flower frenzy are relegated to memory.

Fleeting. So anticipated; so beautiful; so quickly gone.

Yes, I know there will be buds to come: lilies, zinnia, and of course more roses. There will be daisies in the fields and marigolds in the borders. Gladiolas will reach up bright, colorful stalks. Fuchsias will hang from baskets on porches where we can sit quietly, evading the summer heat.

Before we know it, chrysanthemums and dahlias will push their way through the drying soil. Reds and browns and golds, mimicking their season.

Which brings us to winter. All in the blink of an eye.

For me, writing is like the flowers of the seasons: the anticipation of the new story, so perfect and unique in my mind; the first draft giving way to a second and a third (and a fourth). The editing, the publishing… 

Where did that virgin story go? Is it still abloom somewhere in the finished product? (yes, I said “product”.) That seed from my imagination— will it be what people take away when they read the book?

Check out more blogs by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer at:

Mollie Hunt: Crazy Cat Lady Mysteries and more

Happy reading!