Cleansweep my life - Organize

Art reflects Life. Life, however, reflects nothing until vinegar and a paper towel is applied.
In an attempt to bring a little feminine – not to mention Human – touch to my surroundings, I began to clean and organize.
The problem is that there is little that can be just touched in a big clean up.
A few days before, my colleague and I discussed my client – a man presenting with pain that seemed way out of scale with his complaint. Chris explained T4 Syndrome and the activation of the Sympathetic Chain – in short a whole lot of pain in unrelated areas from one spot.
I had something of that sensation as the task of cleaning turned to the task of throwing away; to re-boxing; to vowing to use all the makeup, nail polish and cosmetic minutiae.
The lifting of a curtain revealed the location of my lost and lamented necklace – and the need for some serious vacuuming of the ledge. This led to an in-depth vacuum between windows, the removal and washing of windows and the laundering – and ironing – of curtains.
Dusting morphed into thoroughly cleaning and beeswaxing the lot – especially the parts that cannot be seen.
This Sympathetic Chain is taking on the design of a spider web as I shoot back and forth from room to room with cloth or item in hand. It began, and where(or when) it ends is not to be guessed at.
In the meantime, I walk into my room to gaze fondly at that most lovely of clear and clean objects…the floor

Decided to go over my jewelry boxes this morning – having both the luxury of time and the word ‘boxes’.
Most of the stuff existed before me – some long before. My mother had some lovely things,including a watch I must shrink into. My real love is my father’s work-a-day Timex. It winds itself as you shake it. I wrecked it by accidentally laundering it, a friend assures me that she knows a genius who can fix it.
There’s some kooky stuff – enameled four leaf clovers and a pewter charm and brooch of a llama. A ‘coin’ of sorts of membership into the Orphan Annie club. My mother’s small collection of …marbles? allys? Quite antique and gritty looking.
Some of the stuff is hilariously out of fashion – ‘til it’s not. Still, I cannot see myself in big crystal brooches – though the pink turtle might be a hit.
Revival of the charm bracelet may coax me to wear mine. There are three in total. One has many ‘miniatures’ fish,sled,cablecar,skis, cowbell – can’t have too much cowbell!
Looking at all these things (noting that a few dozen piercings still wouldn’t accommodate all the earrings) is a gift. Not only in the possessing, but in the memories of those who wore them. The llama and miniatures bracelet – among others – belonged to a woman who traveled the world. Yet – this woman was rigidly set in the most narrow-minded views of race and culture. She couldn’t learn enough about life, the world – how so little of it penetrated is a mystery. She could be the funniest person in the room. I’ll never forget her laugh…
The tangle of shell anklets and bracelets – intertwirled with little wooden dolphins – is my mother on holiday. She loved and was beloved by people selling things on the beach! Much was given or saved for presents.
I have done considerable adding to the loot in the form of bracelets, earrings and weird necklaces as well. Darned Etsy.
It’s after tasks like this I ask friends to slap me if I so much as look at another piece.
My mother quietly mourned the leaving of so many nice things – maybe I’m just the Magpie’s chick.
How costly IS a Viking funeral these days?

Now is the time. I am playing hooky from work in order to set all of this stuff straight. Have gotten one phone call finished and the resolution of that mess has fired me up for more.

Cleansweep my foot. Bomb is more like it. Miss Haversham with her cob-webby-mousy wedding table had little to complain of. My livingroom/kitchen is a disgrace – magazines, knitting paraphernalia, an antique serving dish of some kind (must be for fish – fish on the handle) sitting on the floor, my mother’s decorative spoon collection in a corner. The plain truth is there is not enough room to store everything. Yet, it all has to fit – somehow