When I'm 70

I was cleaning up my room yesterday.  That may not seem like a big deal, but it has been a mess ever since we moved.  There are just too many things that don't really have a home, so they end up in our bedroom.  Or things that need to be kept out of the way of small children.  They end up in our room.  Papers and bills and papers that need to be kept would usually go in an office, but we haven't had one.  The file cabinet is in the storage garage.  In our room.  My favorite books?  In our room since I don't have any bookshelves.  Christmas presents waiting to be wrapped?  Leftover Halloween candy? Things that need to be returned?  Electrical cords?  Family pictures that haven't been hung?  All in our room.  It's been a disaster.

I decided that if I kept waiting for... what am I waiting for to be able to clean my room?  A personal organizer, a free week, or a bunch of money maybe.  I can tackle a big job in small chunks - I've done it before.  So I decided to do three little chunks: clear off the dresser, clear off the cedar chest, and hang a few pictures.  I need to feel like I sleep in a little sanctuary rather than in a storage unit.

Nope, no before and after pictures.  I think all of the pictures are before pictures, and I don't think I will ever get to the after stage.  But if you want to picture two feet of boxes and clothes piled on the cedar chest and the whole dresser covered several items deep, you'll get the idea.  It took a while.  Of course, it was much more involved than I thought it would be.  It always is.

Angel came to watch as I was finishing the cedar chest.  I put a few things in to store (a few baby girl outfits that I wore which had been hanging out in my mother's cedar chest, a baby quilt I got 21 years ago, a pair of little boy pants I made when my first started kindergarten, and some lovely pillow cases my grandmother had embroidered) and pulled out a small white tablecloth.  I spread the tablecloth over the worn fabric on the lid of my cedar chest.  Angel sighed.  "It is so pretty!  I think we should have a picnic here!"

When I reminded her that we only eat in the kitchen (she is not the tidiest of eaters), she paused for a moment before blurting out, "When I am 70 I will eat here, because you can eat anywhere you want when you are 70!"  Hmmm.  My dad is 70.  He eats in his bedroom or the living room sometimes.

 Maybe I'd better be making plans for where I will eat when I am 70, too.