Narrow your search

“A safe but sometimes chilly way of recalling the past is to force open a crammed drawer. If you are searching for anything in particular you don’t find it, but something falls out at the back that is often more interesting.” – James Matthew Barrie

There is something about a new year’s eve that drives me into a cleaning frenzy, as if that one day of activity will excuse the whole previous year of dust balls like small cows and paper piles such as the world has never seen. It is a day that professional organizers must both hate and love, all those untrained plebes thinking they could create organization systems on their own. This year it was aided by a pouring rain all day and all night, forcing me inside to face the Mess That is Mine.

I found 8 pairs of scissors in my house-and that’s just downstairs. Big ones, little ones, serrated ones, kiddie ones. I found $23 in small change in the middle drawer of my sideboard in the dining room along with a not insignificant stash of Rupees. I gathered approximately 3,112 pens and pencils gathered into a large Ziploc bag; their brothers and sisters, 3,112 Mr Sketch markers, were gathered into a second large Ziploc bag, the large kind that a whole hog would fit into quite nicely. They now live in a drawer beautifully labeled “Pens and Markers” in our mudroom.

My Brother P-touch labeler has become my most prized possession, edging out my Laminating Machine. I bought it a few months ago at the Office Depot in Ft. Dodge, Iowa.

It took three trips to get it: one for the labeler, one for the batteries and AC adapter (not included, of course, because that would be too helpful), and one for extra labels. A three-day stay in Ft Dodge without a coat in the freezing cold (don’t ask) kept me mostly indoors, warm and cozy in room 204 of the Country Inn with a roaring fire in its lobby, creating a whole A-Z filing system with my box of 100 1/3-cut manila file folders and Brother P-touch labeler. I can’t remember ever being happier. Except for that time…well, perhaps there were happier times in my life, but you get the damn point. It was a satisfying 3 days. I, of course, never gave a thought to the prospect of jamming all those file folders back into my tiny carry-on bag for the trip home, but details…

And so, Brother P-touch has been doing some yeoman’s duty here lately. If it sits still for a moment, it’s labeled. Bubbles, ping pong paddles, a baggie full of rubber bands. Labeled, labeled, labeled. As if they really need a label, but that is Completely Beside the Point.

I’m too embarrassed to say what manner of things we found in the cushions of the couch in the family room during this New Year’s Eve Paroxysm of Clean; we have a three-year-old in the house, remember?

There were 12 rolls of undeveloped film in our dining room sideboard, and enough batteries in various places in our home to light up the middle runway at the Suvarnabhumi International Airport, or at the very least the east runway at Cachoeiro Itapemirim.

We replace items not because we don’t have them, but because we can’t find them. Need some fingernail clippers? I could start a small at-home mail-order business with the pairs of clippers and rolls of scotch tape I found in my frenzy. Alarm clocks? Forget diversity training, I’m going to launch my e-bay career today with the travel alarm clocks alone.

Need some yarn? Beads? Bungee cords? You’ve come to the right place, my friend.

I realized we were a family in trouble. Being the anal retentive planner that I am, I took to my computer and created a Location Matrix typed in my very favorite font, of course. The light bulbs will go under the stairs in the basement. The bungee cords are sequestered in the mudroom left drawer. The art supplies found a home in the mudroom right drawer. The extra toilet paper, placemats, composition books, ledgers and spiral notebooks that I am obsessed by all found a final resting place, duly noted on my matrix. Need a pair of scissors? I can check my Location Matrix now encased in plastic and tell you where to look. Everything is obsessively labeled, bagged, and out of sight. My Red Cross First Aid Kit is actually findable in case someone loses a limb; just because that has never happened doesn’t mean it won’t.

Finally, after a vast madness that kept my family at bay, I settled in to clean up my desk, that wooden bastion of writing and thinking and world-class procrastinating throughout the year. First, I tackled the surface: grocery lists and bills from 2004, greeting cards I meant to send in August, a box of diaper wipes, a bottle of fun bubbles (labled, of course), my label maker, a voodoo doll named Bob, photographs from 1992. Finally, I tackled the middle drawer, that place where when company is coming, everything gets swept, a rats nest of cords and pens and paper clips and important notes that would have been helpful two months ago.

It was easy to get sidetracked. “Look!” I screamed. “Here’s that Ovaltine decoder ring you gave me for Christmas two years ago!” “Here’s that photograph of me and Emma hiking that I love so much!” “Here’s my wristwatch with the battery that’s been dead for two years!” “Whoa! Here’s the spatula!”

We are definitely on target for the Clean Sweep TV show.

And as I reached deep into the back of the deep drawer, past the dust balls and paper clips strewn on the wooden surface of its bottom, past the post-it notes in the shape of hearts and cats, past the colored pencils and watches that need batteries and the glasses without a left lens, beyond the keys that had been declared missing in action years ago, and way, way in the far right corner, a corner so deep into the recesses of the desk that it was invisible to the naked eye, I reached my hand into that significant heart of darkness, remembering all the while the statement that Stephen King once made about the fear he had of reaching into a dark room to turn on the light for fear of something grabbing his wrist.

I reached in as far as I could reach, my hand hitting something cold—I recoiled from the touch, then reached again. And as I pulled out the small, cold, metal object into the light, I realized the value of looking for things close to home, of seeking the simplest solution first, of recognizing that sometimes the window is open just three inches below where you are, like a bee, hitting your head against the pane of glass.

“how like the bumble bee I am in my work or my life
i see where i want to go
and in my panic
i forget to look for the open window”  –Marybeth Fidler

Yes, my friends, in that dark corner of the desk drawer at which I write 37days each week, was my beloved Canon Digital Elph PowerShot SD600 camera.

I could not believe my eyes!

Mr Brilliant came running at the shouting.

“Do you realize,” he said when my shouts subsided, “that all the while you were whining bitching moaning obsessing writing about losing that camera it was just three inches away from your keyboard?”

Sometimes we don’t need people to hold a mirror up to us, do we? Sometimes, my friends, we don’t need an iota more of self-revelation. Sometimes what we need is just pure T celebration with no messages attached, isn’t it?

But as I thought about it, I had to (begrudgingly) allow that he was right. It had been just three inches from my computer keyboard all that time, less than a foot from my chair, buried behind the effluvia that becomes our lives, there, tucked into the dark, dark corner.

And surely it is a sad testament to all that is human that my first reaction was pure sheer shouting jumping excitement and glee (such as one jumps in a fracture boot), my second was embarrassment, and my third reaction which came very swiftly and I’m not proud of it, was a sinking pit in my stomach of disappointment.

You see, after all this time of missing my beloved Canon PowerShot SD600 Digital Elph Camera, I had plotted to replace it with the newer model, a gorgeous Canon PowerShot SD900 Titanium 10MP Digital Elph Camera with 3x Optical Zoom.

That, my friends, is a metaphor for human nature if I’ve ever seen one.

~*~ 37 Days: Do it Now Challenge ~*~

Sometimes what we are looking for is right in front of us, just inches away. And in our looking, we often overlook what is near in our very haste to replace it. Look nearby for what you are seeking.

Sometimes we are the bee hitting our head against the panes of glass when the window just three inches below is open. Look down, use Ockham’s razor, simplify your search.

Narrow your search; open your drawer. Be a seeker in your own land, those hills and crevices and peaks and dark, dusty corners of your own life, the landscape you call home.

Instead of only looking for what you think you’re seeking, be willing to really see what you find, what falls out of the back of the drawer.

And, please. Don’t be so quick to replace the old with the new.

[Oh, how I wish the answer to my missing camera were more exciting. Several people who guessed where I had found it came up with far more interesting stories. Let’s imagine that Billy Collins did return it to me, as someone suggested, shall we?]

Messy drawer image from here (no, Mama, that wasn’t my messy drawer!)