... there must be organization.
Prompted, I'm sure, by the thorough and furious inventory process earlier this week at Churchmouse. (When you think it's a lovely thing to be locked in a shop with heaps and heaps of yarn, think about counting it. Every skein. And then the needles. And then the needlepoint yarn. and then the... and then the...)
It's enough to make a self-respecting Daughter of a Librarian take a cold, hard look...
at her front hall closet.
Gone! are the wee little purses that require a rave club or a chic party to attend.
Gone! are the hep jeans jackets that fall off the shoulders in a manner that hasn't been in fashion since we booted that Nobel Prize winner from Georgia out of office.
Gone! are the devastatingly Italian shoes which are good only for stepping in and out of Maseratis.
An hour later, I am left with order, glorious order.
But no one can leave the house.
Because that would mean taking the shoes out of their little slots.
[And you'd have to crawl over the pile of stuff for the consignment store, anyhoo.]