Adult-proofing your home

When the book, “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up’’ by Marie Kondo came out I was on it like flies on uncovered picnic potato salad!

The book in 15 words: if something doesn’t (1) spark joy or (2) serve a purpose, then it’s outta here.

As person with packrat-like tendencies AND the daughter of Depression-era parents who believed you saved everything, this book spoke to me.Back then Martin was healthy enough to help me cart stuff out the door.He was also healthy enough to fuss about the piles of stuff that were going out the door, being a rat of pack himself.

His protests never varied. “Why are you throwing that out?” “Why are you donating this?” “We might use it one day.” “We might need it one day.’’

In order to keep peace, I kept some of the disputed stuff in a closet. I knew one day he’d reach a point where he wouldn’t remember. When that time came, out the door it would go.

While it sounds like I was getting rid of his stuff before, as the saying goes, his body was even cold, I knew what the future held and it did not involve biking, hiking or snowshoeing. If someone else could use these items now, then let them have them. The bulk was either donated or taken to our town dump where a trailer doubles as Ye Town Dump Store. Townsfolk leave stuff and take stuff from flower pots to screwdrivers to wooden chairs. Everything is free.

Purging complete, I could finally sit back and enjoy a stuff-free home.

And then the wandering began.

In his housely travels—usually at night when I was exhausted and heard nothing—Martin would go total anthropologist and unearth stuff I didn’t know we had or even remember acquiring. Moving stuff was another fave of his.

Sometimes he moved knives. Sometimes he moved dishes. Sometimes he moved chairs, tables and clothing.

And so, I began frantically Konmaring my house, Part II, or as Moms call it: child-proofing.

Every night no matter how tired I was I’d circle the house and make sure everything was in its place or out of sight. During the day no matter how bone-tarred I was I’d circle the house and gather the “buh-bye” items headed for the car and beyond.

Just the act of getting rid of stuff lifted a weight that I didn’t even realize I was lugging. For the first time in a long time I felt I had some scintilla of control. For the first time in a long time I felt like I was making a difference. Our house was safer. Our house was cleaner. Our house was tidier.

Life-changing and magical, indeed.