It took a global pandemic for me to organize my life –
journals, photos, ideas, mementos, clothes, closets, and junk drawers.
I have five bathrooms, a basement, a third floor, and a garage.
I have never mastered organizing my own home.
My Mom supplied years of her method.
Décor in yard sale and estate finds.
Color-coded my closets while organizing me
into Ziploc bags and Dollar Store boxes.
I live in the disorder of a missing mother.
I sit in the middle of my mess.
I hear my mother’s voice:
You don’t need this.
This doesn’t fit.
When was the last time you used this?
This is ratty, Crystal.
The laughter of, remember this!
My ability to sort, decide, and organize comes in easy.
I fold shirts the way I was taught, roll them.
I open drawers and close them in awe
of nature – or is it nurture?
My lineage is sealed tight in a Mason jar with a lid marked, FOR HAIR.
My past is vacuum sealed in Dollar General bags.
A lifetime can be zipped into clear bags that once held comforters.
This method. Hers is mine.
Get rid of what doesn’t fit.
Know who brings you joy.
Everything has its place.