I have lived here for nigh on a year. We have completely redone the house from top to bottom, having, just over the holidays, laid a new floor throughout our home.
The only room, other than the old kitchen and laundry room (which will be done after Graham's woodworking shop is built) to not have one thing done to it...is my office.
A friend commented, with some surprise...Your office feels so masculine. I told him it was because for many years it was used by a male...someone who did not care much about decorating. And I told him it was on my list of things to do.
This morning, I sit here and look around, my eyes growing larger as I notice the sheer volume of stuff. Very, very important stuff, to be sure...but where are the elves who sort and tidy, or the fairies who manage to hang pictures and photos just so?
They must be busy elsewhere.
My problem, when I attempt to tidy, is I get caught up in whatever I am tidying. This stuff is all interesting, otherwise I wouldn't have it, but much has been forgotten about it.
And so, when I find a thing I haven't seen for awhile, I reconnect to the memories and emotions associated with it. This can take time...so much time, in fact, hours can go by spent in reverie.
But very little gets done, when I spend time thinking about my mess.
On my desk, for example, I have all the accoutrements that go with computers...but I also have pens and pencils, batteries, small stones and pebbles, staplers, smudging tools and dried herbs, thesaurus(3),cameras and cases, paintbrushes and paints, candles, stamps, paper for the printer, important research papers for articles unwritten as yet, calendars, eyeglasses and cases, a small cauldron used for ceremony, too many photos to count...and my bowl of licorice.
Sometimes, the licorice gets dusty. I have eaten my share of dust, when I am completely into writing. One can tell, after one has chewed, that these small drops have been sitting in this dusty office for some time. Their taste changes.
All the previously mentioned items are on my desk. But all around it are boxes and totes, paintings yet to be hung...or not, picture frames, stacks of magazines, a pile of books and items to be sent on to the Coast, my old typewriter, and many very old cameras which I collect.
In simple terms, my office has turned into a catch-all. When I unpacked, every item I could not immediately place elsewhere went into this one little room.
And since January has always been a time of new beginnings for me, I have decided it is time to become organized within my office once again.
Organization of the many things in here will make me feel much better. I may not throw much out; in fact, I doubt anything will be discarded.
What I need, I think, is one of those Organizers who come to one's home...those ruthless people seen on TV who have no scruples about throwing out pebbles collected by a child many years ago...
I take that back...anybody who touches my collection of pebbles with the idea of discarding them will not like my reaction.
Those ruthless Organizers would probably also throw out the funny little stick which stands in a corner. It was one of the first gifts my stepson gave me and I use it as a Wand. Many, many memories are attached to its unassuming stance.
But you know what? My office is also my memory room. Stories are created here, from all these dusty things.
I need another cabinet...one in which mundane office items can be stashed, leaving room on my desk for the pebbles, feathers, photos, wands and candles. Leaving room for the muse to sit on a corner of my desk and visit for awhile.
As I look around, I notice my desk could be placed against the East wall. I notice,as well, if I did this, there would be more room for those organizational cabinets I'm thinking of.
And I think of the lovely green I have picked for this North facing room. It will feel like an extension of the Forest which begins just a few feet away. I imagine misty green
light from the Forest filtering through the window, washing its loving, cleansing sense throughout, finding hidden corners and turning them pristine.
This room will be like that, once I begin. But I am convinced in a year, it will once again be dusty, filled with books and magazines and stuff. Once again, Spider will weave her web in unseen places, her magical web catching words better placed on paper.
Yes. It will no doubt have items strewn about here and there. No doubt a pile of books will be waiting to be sent to the coast. Wands and feathers and the like will still be here, creating stopping off places for Grandmother Spider.
But there is one thing I know for sure...my memory room will have feminine energy!