Tidy Home Quotes

Never allow yourself to become a choice in any relationship. The moment you do is when you have reduced your loved one's affections to a daily biological question: Should I take a dump here or wait till I get home?

We got to his place and it looked a lot like his personality. Just a bunch of space filler, nothing to really wow you. It looked like he had bought a lot of stuff from IKEA and then decided to refinish it at home. Everything was neat and tidy, but you wouldn't want any of it for yourself.

America hadn't really been suited for its long and tiresome role as the Last Superpower, the World's Policeman. As a patriotic American, Oscar was quite content to watch other people's military coming home in boxes for a while. The American national character wasn't suited for global police duties. It never had been. Tidy and meticulous people such as the Swiss and the Swedes were the types who made good cops. America was far better suited to be the World's Movie Star. The world's tequila-addled pro-league bowler. The world's acerbic, bipolar stand-up comedian. Anything but a somber and tedious nation of socially responsible centurions.

Raphael looked around at the sombre grey Waters lapping the Walls and the dripping Statues. She didn't say anything. 'It's usually a lot drier than this,' I said quickly in case she was thinking that my Home was inhospitable and damp.

Storage, after all, is the magical act of finding a home for your belongings.

A dramatic reorganization of the home causes correspondingly dramatic changes in lifestyle and perspective. It is life transforming.

His way of coping with the days was to think of activities as units of time, each unit consisting of about thirty minutes. Whole hours, he found, were more intimidating, and most things one could do in a day took half an hour. Reading the paper, having a bath, tidying the flat, watching Home and Away and Countdown, doing a quick crossword on the toilet, eating breakfast and lunch, going to the local shops… That was nine units of a twenty-unit day (the evenings didn’t count) filled by just the basic necessities. In fact, he had reached a stage where he wondered how his friends could juggle life and a job. Life took up so much time, so how could one work and, say, take a bath on the same day? He suspected that one or two people he knew were making some pretty unsavoury short cuts.

A joy-filled home is like your own personal art museum

How can it be described? How can any of it be described? The trip and the story of the trip are two different things. The narrator is the one who has stayed home, but then, afterward, presses her mouth upon the traveler’s mouth, in order to make the mouth work, to make the mouth say, say, say. One cannot go to a place and speak of it; one cannot both see and say, not really. One can go, and upon returning make a lot of hand motions and indications with the arms. The mouth itself, working at the speed of light, at the eye’s instructions, is necessarily struck still; so fast, so much to report, it hangs open and dumb as a gutted bell. All that unsayable life! That’s where the narrator comes in. The narrator comes with her kisses and mimicry and tidying up. The narrator comes and makes a slow, fake song of the mouth’s eager devastation.

In character, in manner, in style, in all things, the supreme excellence is simplicity. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

if you want to meet a beautiful home that is just right for you, take good care of the one you live in now.

When God created us, he founded His living nature for our home; But you sit in this gloom, surrounded By mildred skull and arid bone.

I think homes that are too tidy, neat and sparse look like nothing interesting is going on.

Tidy homes are all alike, but every messy home is messy in its own way.

Organization means having a place for everything in your home and having a system for getting it there. “Tidiness” and “messiness” describe how quickly things go back to their place. A tidy person typically returns things to their home immediately whereas a messy person does not.

I think there’s something very healthy about keeping your own cave clean. It is a good barometer of how your life is going, the state of your home. If it’s a complete tip, you’re taking on too much or depressed; if someone else has to keep it clean for you, it’s too big or you’re too busy.

When you come across something that’s hard to discard, consider carefully why you have that specific item in the first place. When did you get it and what meaning did it have for you then? Reassess the role it plays in your life. If, for example, you have some clothes that you bought but never wear, examine them one at a time. Where did you buy that particular outfit and why? If you bought it because you thought it looked cool in the shop, it has fulfilled the function of giving you a thrill when you bought it. Then why did you never wear it? Was it because you realized that it didn’t suit you when you tried it on at home? If so, and if you no longer buy clothes of the same style or color, it has fulfilled another important function—it has taught you what doesn’t suit you. In fact, that particular article of clothing has already completed its role in your life, and you are free to say, “Thank you for giving me joy when I bought you,” or “Thank you for teaching me what

Having spent most of my life looking at things of every description, including those in my clients’ homes, I have discovered three common elements involved in attraction: the actual beauty of the object itself (innate attraction), the amount of love that has been poured into it (acquired attraction), and the amount of history or significance it has accrued (experiential value).

Is writing the gift of curling up, of curling up with reality? One would so love to curl up, of course, but what happens to me then? What happens to those, who don’t really know reality at all? It’s so very dishevelled. No comb, that could smooth it down. The writers run through it and despairingly gather together their hair into a style, which promptly haunts them at night. Something’s wrong with the way one looks. The beautifully piled up hair can be chased out of its home of dreams again, but can anyway no longer be tamed. Or hangs limp once more, a veil before a face, no sooner than it could finally be subdued. Or stands involuntarily on end in horror at what is constantly happening. It simply won’t be tidied up. It doesn’t want to.

Taking the clutter out of your home can also help you to think more clearly. Living in a tidy home, where everything has its own place, actually gives you room in your mind to concentrate on more important things. It creates a home environment that is peaceful and harmonious for everyone that lives there. Having

We came out on Coldra Crescent, one of those warm air nights, stars spitting in the sky like firebugs stuck on a big black velvet rump. A summer night to make anybody with standard glands feel that tidy homes, spring mattresses, four guaranteed meals per day, and legalised religion were all criminal to human development.

For instance, when your child leaves a backpack in the middle of the hallway, you are the one who has the problem. It’s not a problem to your child. It’s your need to enjoy a tidy home that is not being met. Other times, your child might have an issue—an argument with a friend at school, for instance—that is not your problem.

It’s far more important to adorn your home with the things you love than to keep it so bare it lacks anything that brings you joy.

In cases like this, I recommend that my clients make a personal altar in a corner of their house. Although I use the word “altar,” there is no need to worry about the direction it faces or the design. Just make a corner that is shrine-like. I recommend the top shelf in a bookcase because locating it above eye level makes it more shrine-like. One theme underlying my method of tidying is transforming the home into a sacred space, a power spot filled with pure energy. A comfortable environment, a space that feels good to be in, a place where you can relax—these are the traits that make a home a power spot. Would you rather live in a home like this or in one that resembles a storage shed? The answer, I hope, is obvious.

AS THE heavy door shut behind him the cloud gradually lifted from the room. Rachel moved nervously to the table and began to wrap the leftover corn bread in a clean linen napkin. "Before I do another thing," she said, "I must take this to Widow Brown. She's still far too weak to fend for herself. Forgive me for leaving you, Katherine, but I'll be back in no time at all." "In no time," echoed Judith bitterly, as her mother hurried out into the foggy morning. "Just as soon as she's built up the fire and made gruel and tidied the whole cabin. With more than a day's work waiting here at home.

That's been one of my mantras - focus and simplicity. Simple can be harder than complex: You have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it's worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains. - Steve Jobs

TIDY UP YOUR WORKSPACE BEFORE YOU CALL IT A DAY. When you go to an office, you can leave your messy home, well, at home. Not so for remote workers. And this is a problem, because working in a messy space zaps your concentration. Research shows clutter can trigger the release of cortisol (the stress hormone). Messy homes are also linked to increased procrastination. Before you clock out each night, spend five minutes putting things away, organizing your papers, and removing dirty glasses. You’ll appreciate your efforts when you sit down to your desk the next morning.

She has that voraciousness about children. She swoops in on them. Even I, in public was a beloved child. She'd parade me into town, smiling and teasing me, tickling me as she spoke with people on the sidewalks. When we got home, she'd trail off to her room like an unfinished sentence, and I would sit outside with my face pressed against her door, and replay the day in my head, searching for clues to what I had done to displease her. I have one memory that catches in me like a nasty clump of blood. Marian was dead about two years, and my mother had a cluster of friends come over for afternoon drinks. For hours, the child was cooed over, smothered with red lipstick kisses, tidied up with tissues, then lipstick smacked again. I was suppose to be reading in my room, but I sat at the top of the stairs watching. My mother finally was handed the baby, and she cuddled it ferociously. Oh, how, wonderful it is to hold a baby again! Adora jiggled it on her knee, walked it around the rooms, whispered to it, and I looked down from above like a spiteful little god, the back of my hand placed against my face, imagining how it felt to be cheek to cheek with my mother.

By using the idea of sweaty concepts, I am also trying to show how descriptive work is conceptual work. A concept is worldly, but it is also a reorientation to a world, a way of turning things around, a different slant on the same thing. More specifically, a sweaty concept is one that comes out of a description of a body that is not at home in the world. By this I mean description as angle or point of view: a description of how it feels not to be at home in the world, or a description of the world from the point of view of not being at home in it. Sweat is bodily; we might sweat more during more strenuous and muscular activity. A sweaty concept might come out of a bodily experience that is trying. The task is to stay with the difficulty, to keep exploring and exposing this difficulty. We might need not to eliminate the effort or labor from the writing. Not eliminating the effort or labor becomes an academic aim because we have been taught to tidy our texts, not to reveal the struggle we have in getting somewhere. Sweaty concepts are also generated by the practical experience of coming up against a world, or the practical experience of trying to transform a world.6

There are those who get out and live life, and there are those who stay home and clean their house. And there are those that call one virtuous and one whimsical and irresponsible. And there are those like us that call it your choice in the way you live your life. You get to choose. Nobody else.

After Ian left for the Greenleaf Inn, where he planned to stop for the night before continuing the trip to his own home, Elizabeth stayed downstairs to put out the candles and tidy up the drawing room. In one of the guest chambers above, Jordan glanced at his wife’s faint, preoccupied smile and suppressed a knowing grin. “Now what do you think of the Marquess of Kensington?” he asked. Her eyes were shining as she lifted them to his. “I think,” she softly said, “that unless he does something dreadful, I’m prepared to believe he could truly be your cousin.” “Thank you, darling,” Jordan replied tenderly, paraphrasing Ian’s words. “I’m happy to see your opinion of him is already improving.

Romance Of A Youngest Daughter" Who will wed the Dowager’s youngest daughter, The Captain? filled with ale? He moored his expected boat to a stake in the water And stumbled on sea-legs into the Hall for mating, Only to be seduced by her lady-in-waiting, Round-bosomed, and not so pale. Or the thrifty burgher in boots and fancy vest With considered views of marriage? By the tidy scullery maid he was impressed Who kept that house from depreciation and dirt, But wife does double duty and takes no hurt, So he rode her home in his carriage. Never the spare young scholar antiquary Who was their next resort; They let him wait in the crypt of the Old Library And found him compromised with a Saxon book, Claiming his truelove Learning kept that nook And promised sweet disport. Desirée (of a mother’s christening) never shall wed Though fairest child of her womb; “We will have revenge,” her injured Ladyship said, “Henceforth the tightest nunnery be thy bed By the topmost stair! When the ill-bred lovers come We’ll say, She is not at home.

The Four Establishments of Mindfulness are the foundation of our dwelling place. Without them, our house is abandoned; no one is sweeping, dusting or tidying up. Our body becomes unkempt, or feelings full of suffering, and our mind a heap of afflictions. When we are truly home, our body, mind, and feelings will be a refuge for ourselves and others.

You’ll do what you can, you won’t do what you can’t, and the tyrannical inner voice insisting that you must do everything is simply mistaken. We rarely stop to consider things so rationally, though, because that would mean confronting the painful truth of our limitations. We would be forced to acknowledge that there are hard choices to be made: which balls to let drop, which people to disappoint, which cherished ambitions to abandon, which roles to fail at. Maybe you can’t keep your current job while also seeing enough of your children; maybe making sufficient time in the week for your creative calling means you’ll never have an especially tidy home, or get quite as much exercise as you should, and so on.

But the path back home is not long. Home is inside us. Going home requires only sitting down and being with yourself, accepting the situation as it is. Yes, it might be a mess in there, but we accept it because we know we have left home for a long time. So now we’re home. With our in-breath and our out-breath, our mindful breathing, we begin to tidy up our homes.

What is causing you to put things down "for now"? Are you feeling too rushed in your everyday life? Is there never a chance to reset? As you go through the process of clearing out your clutter, you will see that things become easier to put away when there is a home for them and that home is easier to access. When you are tempted to put something down, ask yourself, "Will I really have more time to deal with this later? Will I know where to find this later when I'm looking for it?" Be kind to your future self and put it away now. Next week you will thank me.

On the second night here, the Koreans played and the streets had to be closed down to traffic for half a day before the game. In a remarkable coincidence, everyone came to town wearing the same type of red T-shirt. The Koreans gathered like a huge blob of ketchup and went mad in a quiet, Dufferlike way. You haven't seen crowds until you've seen Korean crowds. They gathered. They cheered in unison. They clapped and exuberated. Then they tidied up after themselves and went home. If you ever have to have half-a-million people in your house for a function, make sure they are Koreans.

After Josh leaves and Kitty goes upstairs to watch TV, I’m tidying up the living room and Peter’s sprawled out on the couch watching me. I keep thinking he’s about to leave, but then he keeps lingering. Out of nowhere he says, “Remember back at Halloween how you were Cho Chang and Sanderson was Harry Potter? I bet you that wasn’t a coincidence. I bet you a million bucks he got Kitty to find out what your costume was and then he ran out and bought a Harry Potter costume. The kid is into you.” I freeze. “No, he isn’t. He loves my sister. He always has and he always will.” Peter waves this off. “Just you wait. As soon as you and I are done, he’s gonna pull some cheesy-ass move and, like, profess his love for you with a boom box. I’m telling you, I know how guys think.” I yank away the pillow he’s got cushioning his bac and put it on the recliner. “My sister will be home for winter break soon. I bet you a million dollars they get back together.” Peter holds his hand out for me to shake on it, and when I take it, he pulls me onto the couch next to him. Our legs touch. He has a mischievous glint in his eye, and I think maybe he’s going to kiss me, and I’m scared, but I’m excited, too. But then I hear Kitty’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and the moment’s over.

I guess we could find a bench.” “No, you wanted the grass.” He stood for a minute, brow creased. Then abruptly he took off his suit jacket and spread it out on the ground. “There. You can sit on that.” She stared at him. Surely he didn’t mean that? She knew how important having his jacket all in order was to him, because every day when he came home from work, the first thing he did was take off his suit and hang it up so it remained perfectly pressed. He was a tidy kind of guy and she respected that, even if she didn’t understand it. “But…it’ll get dirty.” “I’ll get it dry-cleaned afterward.” And when she hesitated, he gestured toward it again. “Go on, sit.

When at last he finally hooked one, despite Elizabeth’s best efforts to prevent it, she scrambled to her feet and backed up a step. “You-you’re hurting it!” she cried as he pulled the hook from its mouth. “Hurting what? The fish?” he asked in disbelief. “Yes!” “Nonsense,” said he, looking at her as if she was daft, then he tossed the fish on the bank. “It can’t breathe, I tell you!” she wailed, her eyes fixed on the flapping fish. “It doesn’t need to breathe,” he retorted. “We’re going to eat it for lunch.” “I certainly won’t!” she cried, managing to look at him as if he were a cold-blooded murderer. “Lady Cameron,” he said sternly, “am I to believe you’ve never eaten a fish?” “Well, of course I have.” “And where do you think the fish you’ve eaten came from?” he continued with irate logic. “It came from a nice tidy package wrapped in paper,” Elizabeth announced with a vacuous look. “They come in nice, tidy paper wrapping.” “Well, they weren’t born in that tidy paper,” he replied, and Elizabeth had a dreadful time hiding her admiration for his patience as well as for the firm tone he was finally taking with her. He was not, as she had originally thought, a fool or a namby-pamby. “Before that,” he persisted, “where was the fish? How did that fish get to the market in the first place?” Elizabeth gave her head a haughty toss, glanced sympathetically at the flapping fish, then gazed at him with haughty condemnation in her eyes. “I assume they used nets or something, but I’m perfectly certain they didn’t do it this way.” “What way?” he demanded. “The way you have-sneaking up on it in its own little watery home, tricking it by covering up your hook with that poor fuzzy thing, and then jerking the poor fish away from its family and tossing it on the bank to die. It’s quite inhumane!” she said, and she gave her skirts an irate twitch. Lord Marchman stared at her in frowning disbelief, then he shook his head as if trying to clear it. A few minutes later he escorted her home. Elizabeth made him carry the basket containing the fish on the opposite side from where she walked. And when that didn’t seem to discomfit the poor man she insisted he hold his arm straight out-to keep the basket even further from her person. She was not at all surprised when Lord Marchman excused himself until supper, nor when he remained moody and thoughtful throughout their uncomfortable meal. She covered the silence, however, by chattering earnestly about the difference between French and English fashions and the importance of using only the best kid for gloves, and then she regaled him with detailed descriptions of every gown she could remember seeing. By the end of the meal Lord Marchman looked dazed and angry; Elizabeth was a little hoarse and very encouraged.

Maria managed to avoid Oliver for most of St. Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t difficult-apparently he spent half of it sleeping off his wild night. Not that she cared one bit. She’d learned her lesson with him. Truly she had. Not even the beautiful bouquet of irises he’d sent up to her room midafternoon changed that. Now that she was dressing for tonight’s ball, she was rather proud of herself for having only thought of him half a dozen times. Per hour, her conscience added. “There, that’s the last one,” Betty said as she tucked another ostrich feather into Maria’s elaborate coiffure. According to Celia, the new fashion this year involved a multitude of feathers drooping from one’s head in languid repose. Maria hoped hers didn’t decide to find their repose on the floor. Betty seemed to have used a magical incantation to keep them in place, and Maria wasn’t at all sure they would stay put. “You look lovely, miss,” Betty added. “If I do,” Maria said, “it’s only because of your efforts, Betty.” Betty ducked her head to hide her blush. “Thank you, miss.” It was amazing how different the servant had been ever since Maria had taken Oliver’s advice to heart, letting the girl fuss over her and tidy her room and do myriad things that Maria would have been perfectly happy to do for herself. But he’d proved to be right-Betty practically glowed with pride. Maria wished she’d known sooner how to treat them all, but honestly, how could she have guessed that these mad English would enjoy being in service? It boggled her democratic American mind. Casting an admiring glance down Maria’s gown of ivory satin, Betty said, “I daresay his lordship will swallow his tongue when he sees you tonight.” “If he does, I hope he chokes on it,” Maria muttered. With a sly glance, Betty fluffed out the bouffant drapery of white tulle that crossed Maria’s bust and was fastened in the center with an ornament of gold mosaic. “John says the master didn’t touch a one of those tarts at the brothel last night. He says that his lordship refused every female that the owner of the place brought before him.” “I somehow doubt that.” Paying her no heed, Betty continued her campaign to salvage her master’s dubious honor. “Then Lord Stoneville went to the opera house and left without a single dancer on his arm. John says he never done that before.” Maria rolled her eyes, though a part of her desperately wanted to believe it was true-a tiny, silly part of her that she would have to slap senseless. Betty polished the ornament with the edge of her sleeve. “John says he drank himself into a stupor, then came home without so much as kissing a single lady. John says-“ “John is inventing stories to excuse his master’s actions.” “Oh no, miss! John would never lie. And I can promise you that the master has never come home so early before, and certainly not without…that is, at the house in Acton he was wont to bring a tart or two home to…well, you know.” “Help him choke on his tongue?” Maria snapped as she picked up her fan. Betty laughed. “Now that would be a sight, wouldn’t it? Two ladies trying to shove his tongue down his throat.” “I’d pay them well to do it.

Please tidy your room this instant!” Gertrude’s mother would plead. The poor lady was in torment. She prided herself on keeping the rest of her house utterly spotless. If a single biscuit crumb dropped on to the carpet, Mother would get the vacuum cleaner out. The grubbiness of Gertrude’s bedroom was absolutely horrifying to her. How had she, a lady who always kept a vase of fresh flowers on the dining table, given birth to a child who chose to live in a… swamp? “BOG OFF!” Gertrude would reply with a laugh. She knew that her mother (always immaculately turned out with her hair in a swirl and a string of pearls round her neck) loathed her saying the word ‘BOG’. So Gertrude always, always, always made sure she used it when speaking to her. “Daughter! I forbid you from using that foul word!” Mother would wail. “What?‘BOG’?” Gertrude would answer mischievously. “Yes. It’s a frightful word that has no place in my otherwise delightful home. Now, young lady, I need you to tidy your room this instant!”“BOG OFF!” Gertrude would shout back. 135

It’s okay. And clearly you’re not the thief either or you’d hardly be hunting for the real one.” “I just want to clear my name.” “Understandable.” Mr Jackson applied the Band-Aid to his knee. On the desk, Angus noticed a second photo. Mr Jackson with his arm around a little girl. Five or six years old, maybe. “Who’s she?” he asked, indicating the picture. “My daughter. She died.” “I’m sorry,” he said again, not knowing what else to say. “She was in hospital for a long time. The staff were good to her.” Neither of them said anything for a time. “Look,” continued Mr Jackson, finally, “I think it’s great that you and your friend are trying to find the thief. But you have to be realistic about your chances. And you definitely don’t want to be going into any school rooms without permission like you did the other day or you will end up in even more trouble.” “Okay,” Angus said, standing up. “Just a thought,” said Mr Jackson, “but if you’re serious about finding the culprit, I’d look closer to home.” “Closer to home?” Angus didn’t understand. “The phone was found in your tidy tray, right?” “Yes, but—” Angus couldn’t finish as Mr Jackson’s own

I have never lost the thrill of travel. I still crave the mental and physical jolt of being somewhere new, of descending aeroplane steps into a different climate, different faces, different languages. It’s the only thing, besides writing, that can meet and relieve my ever-simmering, ever-present restlessness. If I have been too long at home, stuck in the routine of school-runs, packed lunches, swimming lessons, laundry, tidying, I begin to pace the house in the evenings. I might start to cook something complicated very late at night. I might rearrange my collections of Scandinavian glass. I will scan the bookshelves, sighing, searching for something I haven’t yet read. I will start sorting through my clothes, deciding on impulse to take armfuls to the charity shop. I am desperate for change, endlessly seeking novelty, wherever I can find it. My husband might return from an evening out to discover that I have moved all the furniture in the living room. I am not, at times like this, easy to live with. He will raise his eyebrows as I single-handedly shove the sofa towards the opposite wall, just to see how it might look. “Maybe,” he will say, as he unlaces his shoes, “we should book a holiday.

The eastward spurs tip backward from the sun. Nights runs an obscure tide round cape and bay and beats with boats of cloud up from the sea against this sheer and limelit granite head. Swallow the spine of range; be dark. O lonely air. Make a cold quilt across the bone and skull that screamed falling in flesh from the lipped cliff and then were silent, waiting for the flies. Here is the symbol, and climbing dark a time for synthesis. Night buoys no warning over the rocks that wait our keels; no bells sound for the mariners. Now must we measure our days by nights, our tropics by their poles, love by its end and all our speech by silence. See in the gulfs, how small the light of home. Did we not know their blood channelled our rivers, and the black dust our crops ate was their dust? O all men are one man at last. We should have known the night that tidied up the cliffs and hid them had the same question on its tongue for us. And there they lie that were ourselves writ strange. Never from earth again the coolamon or thin black children dancing like the shadows of saplings in the wind. Night lips the harsh scarp of the tableland and cools its granite. Night floods us suddenly as history that has sunk many islands in its good time.

With our desire to have more, we find ourselves spending more and more time and energy to manage and maintain everything we have. We try so hard to do this that the things that were supposed to help us end up ruling us. We eventually get used to the new state where our wishes have been fulfilled. We start taking those things for granted and there comes a time when we start getting tired of what we have. We're desperate to convey our own worth, our own value to others. We use objects to tell people just how valuable we are. The objects that are supposed to represent our qualities become our qualities themselves. There are more things to gain from eliminating excess than you might imagine: time, space, freedom and energy. When people say something is impossible, they have already decided that they don't want to do it. Differentiate between things you want and things you need. Leave your unused space empty. These open areas are incredibly useful. They bring us a sense of freedom and keep our minds open to the more important things in life. Memories are wonderful but you won't have room to develop if your attachment to the past is too strong. It's better to cut some of those ties so you can focus on what's important today. Don't get creative when you are trying to discard things. There's no need to stock up. An item chosen with passion represents perfection to us. Things we just happen to pick up, however, are easy candidates for disposal or replacement. As long as we stick to owning things that we really love, we aren't likely to want more. Our homes aren't museum, they don't need collections. When you aren't sure that you really want to part with something, try stowing it away for a while. Larger furniture items with bold colors will in time trigger visual fatigue and then boredom. Discarding things can be wasteful. But the guilt that keeps you from minimizing is the true waste. The real waste is the psychological damage that you accrue from hanging on to things you don't use or need. We find our originality when we own less. When you think about it, it's experience that builds our unique characteristics, not material objects. I've lowered my bar for happiness simply by switching to a tenugui. When even a regular bath towel can make you happy, you'll be able to find happiness almost everywhere. For the minimalist, the objective isn't to reduce, it's to eliminate distractions so they can focus on the things that are truly important. Minimalism is just the beginning. It's a tool. Once you've gone ahead and minimized, it's time to find out what those important things are. Minimalism is built around the idea that there's nothing that you're lacking. You'll spend less time being pushed around by something that you think may be missing. The qualities I look for in the things that I buy are: - the item has a minimalistic kind of shape and is easy to clean - it's color isn't too loud - I'll be able to use it for a long time - it has a simple structure - it's lightweight and compact - it has multiple uses A relaxed moment is not without meaning, it's an important time for reflection. It wasn't the fallen leaves that the lady had been tidying up, it was her own laziness that she had been sweeping away. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit. With daily cleaning, the reward may be the sense of accomplishment and calmness we feel afterward. Cleaning your house is like polishing yourself. Simply by living an organized life, you'll be more invigorated, more confident and like yourself better. Having parted with the bulk of my belongings, I feel true contentment with my day-to-day life. The very act of living brings me joy. When you become a minimalist, you free yourself from all the materialist messages that surround us. All the creative marketing and annoying ads no longer have an effect on you.

Rather, I found through this experience that there is significant similarity between meditating under a waterfall and tidying. When you stand under a waterfall, the only audible sound is the roar of water. As the cascade pummels your body, the sensation of pain soon disappears and numbness spreads. Then a sensation of heat warms you from the inside out, and you enter a meditative trance. Although I had never tried this form of meditation before, the sensation it generated seemed extremely familiar. It closely resembled what I experience when I am tidying. While not exactly a meditative state, there are times when I am cleaning that I can quietly commune with myself. The work of carefully considering each object I own to see whether it sparks joy inside me is like conversing with myself through the medium of my possessions. For this reason, it is essential to create a quiet space in which to evaluate the things in your life. Ideally, you should not even be listening to music. Sometimes I hear of methods that recommend tidying in time to a catchy song, but personally, I don’t encourage this. I feel that noise makes it harder to hear the internal dialogue between the owner and his or her belongings. Listening to the TV is, of course, out of the question. If you need some background noise to relax, choose environmental or ambient music with no lyrics or well-defined melodies. If you want to add momentum to your tidying work, tap the power of the atmosphere in your room rather than relying on music. The best time to start is early morning. The fresh morning air keeps your mind clear and your power of discernment sharp. For this reason, most of my lessons commence in the morning. The earliest lesson I ever conducted began at six thirty, and we were able to clean at twice the usual speed. The clear, refreshed feeling gained after standing under a waterfall can be addictive. Similarly, when you finish putting your space in order, you will be overcome with the urge to do it again. And, unlike waterfall meditation, you don’t have to travel long distances over hard terrain to get there. You can enjoy the same effect in your own home. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?

1.5 Make time to manage People used to worry about keeping their desk tidy. Now it’s also about keeping the computer desktop tidy. Then there are the interruptions, the telephone, the meetings…Follow these nine tips to get rid of the time robbers in your life. 1 Be clear about what you want to achieve. Do the one minute wonder exercise opposite. 2 Plan your work. Write down your goals and break each goal down into sub-tasks. Give start and finish dates to each task. 3 Book appointments with your work. If a report is going to take two hours, then make an appointment with that report as if it were a real person. 4 Deal with tasks as soon as you can. If it’s an unpleasant task then do it first thing. 5 Be ruthless with time – but courteous with people. But don’t over-socialize either face to face or on the phone. Remember you’re eating into other people’s time as well! one minute wonder Write down your job purpose. Then write the five activities that help you achieve this job purpose. Rate each activity 1-5 according to how happy you are with the time you spend on each (1=low, 5=high). Now get those low – rated activities into your diary! 6 Deal with your email three times a day. First thing in the morning, mid-morning and mid-afternoon. Turn off the pop-up that tells you when an email has just come through. 7 Deal with interruptions. Ask the interrupter if it’s quick or if it can wait until later. If interrupted at your desk, then stand up to keep the other person focused. 8 Deal with your in-tray once a day. Take each item and: deal with it; delegate it; file it or dump it. 9 Plan your telephone calls. Save them up and do them in a block so they’ll be quicker and more focused. The worst feeling as a manager is when we think that the workload is too much for us. These nine tips make sure that you stay in control and go home each evening feeling on top of your workload. Being a great time manager leaves you with more time for your people.

Remove all the books from your bookcases. You cannot judge whether or not a book really grabs you when it’s still on the shelf. Like clothes or any other belongings, books that have been left untouched on the shelf for a long time are dormant. Or perhaps I should say they’re “invisible.” Although in plain sight, they remain unseen, just like a praying mantis still in the grass, merging with its surroundings. (Have you ever experienced that jolt of surprise when you suddenly notice it there?) If you ask yourself, “Does this spark joy?” when you are just looking at the things on your shelves or in your drawers, the question won’t mean much to you. To truly decide whether you want to keep something or to dispose of it, you must take your things out of hibernation. Even the piles of books already on the floor will be easier to assess if you move them to a different part of the floor or restack them. Just like the gentle shake we use to wake someone up, we can stimulate our belongings by physically moving them, exposing them to fresh air and making them “conscious.” While helping my clients tidy their homes or offices, I stand in front of the mound of books they have piled on the floor and clap my hands, or I gently stroke the book covers. Although my clients look at me strangely at first, they are inevitably surprised at how quickly and precisely they are able to choose after this. They can see exactly what they need and don’t need. It is much harder to choose books when they are still on the shelf, which means you will have to repeat the process later. If there are too many books to arrange on the floor all at one time, I ask my clients to divide them into four broad categories: General (books you read for pleasure) Practical (references, cookbooks, etc.) Visual (photograph collections, etc.) Magazines Once you have piled your books, take

In contrast, I feel happy and content. I have time to experience bliss in my quiet space, where even the air feels fresh and clean; time to sit and sip herbal tea while I reflect on my day. As I look around, my glance falls on a painting that I particularly love, purchased overseas, and a vase of fresh flowers in one corner. Although not large, the space I live in is graced only with those things that speak to my heart. My lifestyle brings me joy. Wouldn't you like to live this way, too? It's easy, once you know how to truly put your home in order.

How can it be described? How can any of it be described? The trip and the story of the trip are always two different things. The narrator is the one who has stayed home, but then, afterward, presses her mouth upon the traveler’s mouth, in order to make the mouth work, to make the mouth say, say, say. One cannot go to a place and speak of it; one cannot both see and say, not really. One can go, and upon returning make a lot of hand motions and indications with the arms. The mouth itself, working at the speed of light, at the eye’s instructions, is necessarily struck still; so fast, so much to report, it hangs open and dumb as a gutted bell. All that unsayable life! That’s where the narrator comes in. The narrator comes with her kisses and mimicry and tidying up. The narrator comes and makes a slow, fake song of the mouth’s eager devastation.

As Liljana sat stitching a sampler or darning a sock, she dreamed her way into life as a grown woman with her own household to run, her own home to tidy, her own children to mind, and her own husband to cheer after a long day's work as they sat together by the fire. The life that future generations would dismiss as dull and degrading offered Liljana the liberating prospect of being mistress in her own home rather than living to serve others.

If, for example, you have some clothes that you bought but never wear, examine them one at a time. Where did you buy that particular outfit and why? If you bought it because you thought it looked cool in the shop, it has fulfilled the function of giving you a thrill when you bought it. Then why did you never wear it? Was it because you realized that it didn’t suit you when you tried it on at home? If so, and if you no longer buy clothes of the same style or color, it has fulfilled another important function—it has taught you what doesn’t suit you.

The men in her life were clean-cut, well-bred, reliable, unpretentious and good company. “Diana is an Uptown girl who has never gone in for downtown men,” observes Rory Scott. If they wore a uniform or had been cast aside by Sarah so much the better. She felt rather sorry for Sarah’s rejects and often tried, unsuccessfully, to be asked out by them. So she did washing for William van Straubenzee, one of Sarah’s old boyfriends, and ironed the shirts of Rory Scott, who had then starred in a television documentary about Trooping the Colour, and Diana regularly stayed for weekends at his parents’ farm near Petworth, West Sussex. She continued caring for his wardrobe during her royal romance, on one occasion delivering a pile of freshly laundered shirts to the back entrance of St. James’s Palace, where Rory was on duty, in order to avoid the press. James Boughey was another military man who took her out to restaurants and the theatre and Diana visited Simon Berry and Adam Russell at their rented house on the Blenheim estate when they were undergraduates at Oxford. There were lots of boyfriends but none became lovers. The sense of destiny which Diana had felt from an early age shaped, albeit unconsciously, her relationships with the opposite sex. She says: “I knew I had to keep myself tidy for what lay ahead.” As Carolyn observes: “I’m not a terrible spiritual person but I do believe that she was meant to do what she is doing and she certainly believes that. She was surrounded by this golden aura which stopped men going any further, whether they would have liked to or not, it never happened. She was protected somehow by a perfect light.” It is a quality noted by her old boyfriends. Rory Scott says roguishly: “She was very sexually attractive and the relationship was not a platonic one as far as I was concerned but it remained that way. She was always a little aloof, you always felt that there was a lot you would never know about her.” In the summer of 1979 another boyfriend, Adam Russell, completed his language degree at Oxford and decided to spend a year travelling. He left unspoken the fact that he hoped the friendship between himself and Diana could be renewed and developed upon his return. When he arrived home a year later it was too late. A friend told him: “You’ve only got one rival, the Prince of Wales.

Introduction For many folks, the kitchen is the catchall room for every item that enters the house. Mail and keys wind up on the counters, school books are scattered on the kitchen table, coats and sweaters are slung on the backs of chairs and the bowl of pet food always gets kicked over as you’re rushing around preparing a meal. In many ways, the kitchen is more like the family room than any other room in the house. Wouldn’t it feel amazing to have not only a sparkling-clean kitchen, but also one that’s streamlined, tidy and organized? We feel that the kitchen is the best place to begin a decluttering project because it sets the stage for how you want the rest of your house to appear. Now, some organizing experts will suggest you begin by clearing your counters first, which works well if you plan to tackle your kitchen in one decluttering event. But for this project, when you’re working in 10-minute increments, you’ll need to create space in cabinets, closets or drawers for those items you no longer want on the counter. For instance, Barrie has found beginning with the lower cabinets often frees up space for some of those countertop appliances. Here’s a suggested plan for tackling your kitchen: • Begin with the lower cabinets, moving left to right around the room. • Move to the upper cabinets, following the same pattern. • Move to the kitchen drawers, starting with the drawers used most often. • Now with more space above and below, clear the countertops. • Clean out and organize the refrigerator.

What is gardening but tidying and maintaining an outside space? And yet we don't think of it as a chore; we see it as a pleasure and something that relaxes us. Crucially, it is something that often fully absorbs us while we do it. This is the very definition of a mindful activity.

Just as you would greet for family or your pet, say, 'Hello! I'm home,' to your house when you return. If you forget when you walk in the door, then later, when you remember, say, 'Thank you for giving me shelter.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of the Plants, Milkweed Editions, 2015 Marie Kondo, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, Vermilion, 2014 Clare Cooper Marcus, House as a Mirror of Self: Exploring the Deeper Meaning of Home, Hays, 2007 Tisha Morris, Mind, Body, Home: Transform Your Life One Room at a Time, Llewellyn, 2014 Mandy Paradise, Witches, Pagans, and Cultural Appropriation: Considerations & Applications for a Magical Practice, Anchor and Star, 2017 Kristin Petrovich, Elemental Energy: Crystal and Gemstone Rituals for a Beautiful Life, HarperElixir, 2016 Robert Simmons, The Pocket Book of Stones: Who They Are and What They Teach, North Atlantic Books, 2015 Jan Spiller and Karen McCoy, Spiritual Astrology: A Path to Divine Awakening, Touchstone, 2010 Esther M. Sternberg, MD, Healing Spaces: The Science of Place and Well-Being, Harvard University Press, 2010

Just as you would greet your family or your pet, say, 'Hello! I'm home,' to your house when you return. If you forget when you walk in the door, then later, when you remember, say, 'Thank you for giving me shelter.

I give my home a “hug” by tidying-up a space or organizing a drawer. I instantly feel a little more love, respect and appreciation for what I have when I’ve taken a second to care for it.

Chloe laughed and when she entered the apartment she was surprised to find the place relatively tidy. The living area was sparsely furnished, just a couch, a TV and TV stand, a coffee table, and a lamp. Chloe knew the rest of the place would be the same. Danielle was the sort of person who lived on only the minimal amount of belongings. The exception, if she hadn’t changed since her teen years (and it seemed she hadn’t) was music and books. It made Chloe nearly feel guilty for the spacious and elaborate home she had recently purchased with Steven.

The first and most important lesson I learned was that clean is beautiful. Every day, I would give my home a “hug” just by keeping it as clean and tidy as I could.

When I finally stopped looking at housework as something I did for my family or even because of them, I stopped being resentful. In truth, I clean and tidy for myself. I do it because it makes me happy to have a tidy home.

Trying to force others to organize the way you organize is pointless; you can’t change their natural style anymore than they can change yours. By finding systems and containers that work for everyone, your home can finally run efficiently and stay tidy for good.

When you put it down and it scrapes its bottom on the floor, it utters no word of criticism, only doing its best to support you. What a hard worker! It would be cruel not to give it a break at least at home.

Storage, after all, is the sacred act of choosing a home for my belongings.

The end goal is not a tidy home. The end goal is a fundamental shift in one's relationship with possessions.

The Johnson family is an exceptionally well-off family that lives in a big, round home. One morning Mr. Johnson woke up and saw a strawberry ice cream stain on his new cover. He made a conclusion that everybody who was living in the home and was there that morning had an ice cream sandwich. By perusing the accompanying reasons, make sense of who spilled the jam. Edward Johnson said that he was outside playing basketball. The Maid exclaimed that she was tidying the edges of the house. The chef stated that he was preparing ingredients for lunch. Find out who is lying.

One theme underlying my method of tidying is transforming the home into a sacred space, a power spot filled with pure energy. A comfortable environment, a space that feels good to be in, a place where you can relax--these are traits that make a home a power spot. Would you rather live in a home like this or in one that resembles a storage shed? The answer, I hope, is obvious.

Priorities: Priority #1: God The relationship with God must come first. Why? Because we need God's perspective in every area of our lives. ... Priority #2: Husband Solomon said, "A worthy wife is her husband's joy and crown; the other kind corrodes his strength and tears down everything he does" (Proverbs 12:4) ... Priority #3: Children See Bible verses about child rearing. ... Priority #4: Home Proverbs 31:27 The virtuous wife in Proverbs 31 seems to have been a very neat, tidy housekeeper. It seems to come naturally to some people, but I'm not one of them. Priority #5: Yourself Everyone needs time alone - time to read, to indulge in a hobby, or just to do nothing. Evaluate your weekly schedule and plan into it time for yourself. ... Priority #6: Outside The Home I was sharing my excitement about the priorities of a woman's life with a group of women in upstate New York, and one woman said, "Linda, I cannot believe what you are saying. I know that you believe in the Great Commission, to go into the world and preach the gospel, was given to women as well as to men, yet you are saying that our service for Christ is at the end of the list. Since I became a Christian two years ago, my service to the Lord has been first!" I smiled and told her I'd like to ask her husband how he liked that! When my children were very young, I decided before God to keep my priorities in the order I've shared. I still re-evaluate where I spend my time and seek to keep God first, Husband second, my children third, my home fourth, me fifth, and my outside activities sixth.

Set a few simple set points for keeping your home tidy; for example, making the bed every morning, making sure the sink is clear of dirty dishes at night, sorting the mail as soon as you get it and recycling what you don’t need to keep, and so on.

Tidying is not a quick-fix solution; it's a practice, a daily intention, an approach to living.

What would it be like to have been locked up in one of those cells for weeks or months or even years, only to discover that you’d never really been a lunatic at all, and could just as easily – if only the world had been a bit different – have been home in your bedroom all along? That would mean that you couldn’t be sure about things. Better to believe that sane people were sane and crazy people were crazy and you could put the two types of people on opposite sides of a wall and keep them separate, clean and tidy. Without that, where did the lunatics go? Where had they gone? Were they among us? Were they us?

In the end, you're just putting off discarding clothes that no longer bring joy. ...why would you wear joyless clothes inside when you would never wear them outside? Your time at home should be special, too. Don't dress "just for the time being". Wear clothes you love!

What story are we reading today?" His mother grinned. "The Cat in the Hat." Jay bit back a groan. He had never enjoyed the nightmarish story of an impulse-driven cat who barged into a home determined to have fun without thinking of the consequences of his actions. The only sensible creature in the story was the fish, the voice of reason and order who stayed safely in his bowl and insisted that the house be tidied before the mother got back home.

of the most delicious Cox’s Orange Pippins each autumn leaning precariously on the garden wall, the tree like a corner boy up to no good, her mother used to joke. Harp ran around the back – the front door hadn’t been opened in years at that stage – and let herself in. The kitchen was just the same, the delph from breakfast drying on the rack beside the big, deep Belfast sink, the large black flags on the floor, the table cleared and scrubbed, ready for dinner preparations, the big black enamel range that never went out heating the room, winter and summer, the tea cloths hanging on the line over it. Everything neat and tidy. She scurried out the door of the kitchen into the wide bright hallway, almost skidding on the silk carpet runner as she rounded the ornate bannister to bound up the stairs, taking two at a time. The landing overlooked the hallway and was home to a huge walnut sideboard on which sat all the china dolls Mrs Devereaux had loved. Harp thought they were a bit creepy with their glass eyes, real hair and fancy handmade clothes, and thankfully she’d never felt the

Storms are our wilderness. A few generations ago, people looked to wild lands for the experience of the sublime…But now we tidy up the wild places and manage the mountains for science pleasure…the same landscape is merely beautiful now…if people are looking for wilderness now, all they need to do is turn their faces to the sky. Philosophers…use the phrase “that greater than which nothing can be conceived.” Our ancestors spoke to storms with magical words, prayed to them… dancing to the very edge of what is alien and powerful… we may have lost the dances, but we carry with us a need to approach the power of the universe…

Hanging up is a terrific way to keep a variety of items around the house. Using a self-adhesive pad, hanging over a door hook, or attaching to a shelf – you don't always need to drill a hole – is usually all it takes to install a hook. You receive a convenient way to store items that takes up no room on the floor, in drawers, or in cabinets – your items are actually suspended in mid-air, ready to use. That's why clever folks incorporate hooks into their storage strategy. Hooks are often underestimated, but once you examine our assortment of over the door storage organizers, you'll find that they can be easy, stylish, efficient, and even amusing ways to store items. The following are the top three most popular hook: Door Hooks Hanger Over the door Hooks Clothes Storage bag Over the door storage Organizer Coat hooks over the door Hooks are useful for keeping your home tidy and structured, but they may also be used as ornamental elements. Whether you're searching for Door hooks to hang your towels or coat hooks for the hallway, our extensive collection has a broad array of esthetically pleasing hooks in a range of styles. Coat hooks over the door take the following in your home. We have a large selection of gorgeous hook racks in addition to our single wall hooks and coat hooks. Hook racks are ideal for keeping things organised and for families. If you're looking for clothes storage bag for the corridors, hook racks for the bathroom, or even hook racks for the kitchen, you'll find plenty of alternatives here. Which hooks and Coat hooks over the door are the most popular? Hooks and hook racks of various forms and styles can be found in our large selection of storage solutions and organisers. Popular brands like Menu, GUBI, and Muuto offer Door hooks hanger. Contact Us: Unjumbly - Over the door storage organizer Address: 172 Center Street, Suite 202 PO Box 2869 New Jackson, WY 83001 Call Us: +447864166059 Email: info@unjumbly.com

Home is inside us. Going home requires only sitting down and being with yourself, accepting the situation as it is. Yes, it might be a mess in there, but we accept it because we know we have left home for a long time. So now we’re home. With our in-breath and our out-breath, our mind- ful breathing, we begin to tidy up our homes.

have many such memories, but I’ll never forget a meeting with a young blond Senate banking committee staffer in 2003. After hearing our research presentation, she said with a sad little shake of her head, “the problem was we put these people into houses when we shouldn’t have.” I marveled at the inversion of agency in her phrasing. Who was the “we”? Not the hardworking strivers who had finally gotten their fingers around the American Dream despite every barrier and obstacle. No, the “we” was well-intentioned people in government—undoubtedly white, in her mental map. Never mind that most of the predatory loans we were talking about weren’t intended to help people purchase homes, but rather, were draining equity from existing homeowners. From 1998 to 2006, the majority of subprime mortgages created were for refinancing, and less than 10 percent were for first-time homebuyers. It was still a typical refrain, redolent of long-standing stereotypes about people of color being unable to handle money—a tidy justification for denying them ways to obtain it.

I want you to make a commitment to yourself right now that every day before bed you will spend just fifteen minutes giving your home a great big hug. Hug it by tidying, purging, or organizing just one small space each day. I promise you your home will hug you back, and when it does, you are going to feel amazing.

Of course, neat and tidy Mindy can’t stand the lawn ornaments. Neither can Mom. Every time Dad brings a new one home, Mom threatens to toss it into the garbage.

Tokyo." Mr. Fuchigami's voice inflates with pride. "Formerly Edo, almost destroyed by the 1923 Great Kantō earthquake, then again in 1944 by nighttime firebombing raids. Tens of thousands were killed." The chamberlain grows silent. "Kishikaisei." "What does that mean?" There's a skip in my chest. We've entered the city now. The high-rises are no longer cut out shapes against the skyline, but looming gray giants. Every possible surface is covered in signs---neon and plastic or painted banners---they all scream for attention. It's noisy, too. There is a cacophony of pop tunes, car horns, advertising jingles, and trains coasting over rails. Nothing is understated. "Roughly translated, 'wake from death and return to life.' Against hopeless circumstances, Tokyo has risen. It is home to more than thirty-five million people." He pauses. "And, in addition, the oldest monarchy in the world." The awe returns tenfold. I clutch the windowsill and press my nose to the glass. There are verdant parks, tidy residential buildings, upmarket shops, galleries, and restaurants. For each sleek, new modern construction, there is one low-slung wooden building with a blue tiled roof and glowing lanterns. It's all so dense. Houses lean against one another like drunk uncles. Mr. Fuchigami narrates Tokyo's history. A city built and rebuilt, born and reborn. I imagine cutting into it like a slice of cake, dissecting the layers. I can almost see it. Ash from the Edo fires with remnants of samurai armor, calligraphy pens, and chipped tea porcelain. Bones from when the shogunate fell. Dust from the Great Earthquake and more debris from the World War II air raids. Still, the city thrives. It is alive and sprawling with neon-colored veins. Children in plaid skirts and little red ties dash between business personnel in staid suits. Two women in crimson kimonos and matching parasols duck into a teahouse.

maybe making sufficient time in the week for your creative calling means you’ll never have an especially tidy home, or get quite as much exercise as you should, and so on.

The bathroom and the laundry room may be humble, utilitarian spaces, but let me point out a simple fact you may have overlooked: they can also be noble places. If you're cleaning yourself and attending to your own grooming regularly, you're making an effort to present yourself well to the world. If you're taking the time to relax in a bubble bath periodically, you're recognizing that life is not all about activity and achievement and that there are suitable times to de-stress and meditate. If you're monitoring your weight on a scale or taking vitamin supplements kept in your bathroom, you're pursuing the value of health. If you're storing medical supplies that you can grab when a child wakes up sick in the night, you're prepared to bring relief. If you're bathing an infant, or perhaps a disabled spouse or elderly parent, you're giving comfort while serving a basic human need. If you're teaching and modeling a simple approach to health and beauty for your kids, you're helping to start them out well in life. If you're going through the routine of washing your family's clothes week in and week out, they may not thank you but they owe you. Let me say it: thank you for caring and thank you for making the most of these spaces in your house by keeping them tidy and uncluttered.

Grandma's always seemed messier than his home where Dad constantly nagged him to put his stuff away and tidy up.

Your physical clutter is a powerful reminder of your lack of self-care. It’s a call for help—an alert that it’s time to make your needs a priority. And these needs aren’t limited to a tidy home. Your external environment is a reflection of your internal environment, so a neglected home speaks to a neglected you. The stuff around you reflects an abandonment of your core desires, hopes, dreams, and vision. After all, how can you feel motivated to make bold moves in your life when your environment is weighing you down?

This group split up the seven-acre parcel, which was about a half mile away from the property purchased from Meaher. It has come to be known as “Lewis Quarters,” and the eight neat and tidy homes in the neighborhood are still inhabited today by descendants of the Africans.

I reached a point in my own life where I had enough. There was so much stuff around me that I just wanted to scream. I started to get really distressed when looking around my home at all the unnecessary things laying around. At first I took to “tidying up”, putting things away in neat little plastic boxes and lining these boxes up in perfect rows in my closets, desk and other storage areas. This didn’t do it for me, because the clutter would always return and I felt like I wasn’t getting to the root of the issue. I realized that my issue wasn’t just wasn’t the disorganization, but it was the matter of why I had all this stuff to begin with. In my mind, throwing stuff away became less wasteful than having acquired it in the first place. It was almost like this stuff I had acquired was a crutch. The expensive stuff I had was a way to tell myself that I am successful. The activity items, like cookbooks and sports equipment, was a way of pretending that I am consistently an active and dynamic person. The redundant items, like extra jackets and clothing, kitchen supplies, and books were a security blanket guarding against an unknown future (i.e. “you never know”). I suspect that the sentimental items from my past were also a way of holding on to what I know and a fear of moving forward.

What will give me JOY? A home that

Three is the magic number. When you have amassed three of any item that doesn't belong where it is hanging out, it's time to address it.

to a small room. Set up as a home office with computer, filing cabinets, wood desk and two small bookcases, the space was cramped but tidy. One small window looked out onto the darkness. Jason closed the door to his office, took a key from his desk drawer and unlocked the top drawer of the filing cabinet. He stopped and listened for any sound. This had become habitual even in the confines of his own house. That revelation was suddenly profoundly disturbing to him. His wife had gone back to sleep. Amy was sleeping soundly two doors down. He reached in the drawer and carefully pulled out a large old-fashioned leather briefcase with double straps, brass buckles and a worn, glossy finish. Jason opened the briefcase and pulled out a blank floppy disk. The instructions he had been given were precise. Put everything he had on one floppy disk, make one hard copy of the documents and then destroy everything else.

Lots of decisions are moral decisions, but cleaning your car regularly is not one of them. You can be a fully functioning, fully successful, happy, kind, generous adult and never be very good at cleaning your dishes in a timely manner or have an organized home. How you relate to care tasks—whether you are clean or dirty, messy or tidy, organized or unorganized—has absolutely no bearing on whether you are a good enough person.

If you choose to try to make a life with another person, you will live by that choice. You'd find yourself having to choose again and again to remain rather than run. It helps if you enter into a committed relationship prepared to work, ready to be humbled and willing to accept and even enjoy living in that in-between space, bouncing between the poles of beautiful and horrible, sometimes in the span of a single conversation, sometimes over the course of years. And inside of that choice and those years you'll almost certainly come to see that there is no such thing as a 50-50 balance, instead it will be like beads on an abacus, sliding back and forth, the maths rarely tidy, the equation never quite solved. ....A relationship is dynamic this way, full of change always evolving. At no point will both of you feel like things are perfectly fair and equal, someone will always be adjusting, someone will always be sacrificing, one person may be up while the other is down. One might bear more of the financial pressures while the other bears caregiving and family obligations. Those choices and the stresses that go along with them are real. I've come to realized though that life happens in seasons. Your fulfillment in love, family and career rarely happens all at once. In a strong partnership both people will take turns at compromise building a shared sense of home together, there in the in-between, regardless of how wildly and deeply in love you are, you will be asked to onboard a lot of your partners foibles, you will be required to ignore all minor irritations and a few major ones too...

The floor and bed were covered in baskets and bags filled with magazines and papers. When my client came home from work, she moved the things on her bed to the floor and when she woke up, she put them back on the bed to make a path to the door so she could

If you choose to try to make a life with another person, you will live by that choice. You'd find yourself having to choose again and again to remain rather than run. It helps if you enter into a committed relationship prepared to work, ready to be humbled and willing to accept and even enjoy living in that in-between space, bouncing between the poles of beautiful and horrible, sometimes in the span of a single conversation, sometimes over the course of years. And inside of that choice and those years you'll almost certainly come to see that there is no such thing as a 50-50 balance, instead it will be like beads on an abacus, sliding back and forth, the maths rarely tidy, the equation never quite solved. ....A relationship is dynamic this way, full of change always evolving. At no point will both of you feel like things are perfectly fair and equal, someone will always be adjusting, someone will always be sacrificing, one person may be up while the other is down. One might bear more of the financial pressures while the other bears caregiving and family obligations. Those choices and the stresses that go along with them are real. I've come to realized though that life happens in seasons. Your fulfillment in love, family and career rarely happens all at once. In a strong partnership both people will take turns at compromise building a shared sense of home together, there in the in-between, regardless of how wildly and deeply in love you are, you will be asked to onboard a lot of your partners foibles, you will be required to ignore all minor irritations and a few major ones too...

The floor and bed were covered in baskets and bags filled with magazines and papers. When my client came home from work, she moved the things on her bed to the floor and when she woke up, she put them back on the bed to make a path to the door so she could go to work. Her lifestyle could not have been called “feminine” by any stretch of the imagination. “What do you mean by a ‘feminine lifestyle’?” I asked. She thought for a long moment before finally responding. “Well, when I come home from work, the floor would be clear of clutter … and my room, as tidy as a hotel suite with nothing obstructing the line of sight. I’d have a pink bedspread and a white antique-style lamp. Before going to bed, I would have a bath, burn aromatherapy oils, and listen to classical piano or violin while doing yoga and drinking herbal tea. I would fall asleep with a feeling of unhurried spaciousness.” Her

Charlie. He must have called Ariel by mistake. Satisfied that she had everything that was vital, and informing Bruno that she would be sending a moving company for her furniture and other items, Ariel exited the building with as much grace as she could, having to walk out to her car accompanied by the tank-like security guard. At least Bruno had offered to carry her cardboard box. Unexpectedly, once they reached her sedan and Bruno had loaded her belongings into the trunk, he gave her a tight bear hug and said, “Sorry, Ms. H. This ain’t right.” Then he turned and strode away quickly—but not before she saw the misty shine in his eyes. “Thank you, Bruno!” she called after him, and he waved a meaty hand in the air but kept walking. In her car alone, Ariel felt her own eyes finally fill too. She cried all the way home, so upset that she barely noticed the traffic that would normally be the source of her evening stress. When she pulled into the driveway of her sprawling Mediterranean Revival, she made sure to tidy her makeup so that it wasn’t so apparent that she had been crying. She would be strong so that, when she broke the news to Katie, her daughter wouldn’t feel like everything was out of control.

The floor and bed were covered in baskets and bags filled with magazines and papers. When my client came home from work, she moved the things on her bed to the floor and when she woke up, she put them back on the bed to make a path to the door so she could go to work. Her lifestyle could not have been called “feminine” by any stretch of the imagination. “What do you mean by a ‘feminine lifestyle’?” I asked. She thought for a long moment before finally responding. “Well, when I come home from work, the floor would be clear of clutter … and my room, as tidy as a hotel suite with nothing obstructing the line of sight. I’d have a pink bedspread and a white antique-style lamp. Before going to bed,

THE FORTY DAYS OF THE SOUL BEGIN ON THE MORNING after death. That first night, before its forty days begin, the soul lies still against sweated-on pillows and watches the living fold the hands and close the eyes, choke the room with smoke and silence to keep the new soul from the doors and the windows and the cracks in the floor so that it does not run out of the house like a river. The living know that, at daybreak, the soul will leave them and make its way to the places of its past—the schools and dormitories of its youth, army barracks and tenements, houses razed to the ground and rebuilt, places that recall love and guilt, difficulties and unbridled happiness, optimism and ecstasy, memories of grace meaningless to anyone else—and sometimes this journey will carry it so far for so long that it will forget to come back. For this reason, the living bring their own rituals to a standstill: to welcome the newly loosed spirit, the living will not clean, will not wash or tidy, will not remove the soul’s belongings for forty days, hoping that sentiment and longing will bring it home again, encourage it to return with a message, with a sign, or with forgiveness.