Organised and Connected

Not not my pantry.  I wish.  I did do a yearly clear up, sort and tidy a few weeks before we had to lie low.  It's been said, derisively, that it's about control.  You betcha it's about control.  Feeling in control (and knowing where things are) is my rod, my safety net, my security blanket.
We have our demons and we deal with them how we can. We have our personal way of getting through.  If you're a messer, that's fine.  But to quote Dr Phil, "And how's that working for you?"

Above a tidy drawer (for a tidy mind, haha).

While some in the community were tackling their pantry and kitchen shelves I got to work on my stationery drawers, all five of them.  They were certainly the result of hoarding or rather years of tossing something, to simply get it out of sight. As well as an embarrassing number of systems and boxes that had promised to finally get stuff in order, there were enough biros, pencils, staplers, rubbers, batteries, paper clips, sharpeners, tape rolls, bluetack and homeless keys to last until 2050.

While throwing out dried-out biros and rock-hard erasers, I re-discovered various fountain pens, including a  1960s streamlined Parker from a mixed auction box. A satisfying hour was spent "servicing" them all and filling them with various coloured inks, (more than enough ink to transcribe the complete works of  Proust.) Best of all,  I was re-aquainted with my lovely Montblanc pen.  We made friends and it  will now never leave my side.

So you have hundreds of postcards.  You collected them (as essentials) while travelling,  checking out the museum shop, at the craft shop of that small sea-side town.  You know you'll get to send them, one day.  Well now is the time.

Resist sorting them (unless you have absolutely nothing else to do). Just take the first from the top. (This could turn into an ironic, zany joke; the Madonna in Assumption for a devout atheist, coffee pots through the ages for a friend missing her  Tall Decaf Soy Skinny Vanilla Latte Frappé.)

Let's keep the solitude but still connect.  Bring joy.  Don't Zoom.  Send a card.  There's not much room for writing; just a "Hi! Thinking of you. Hope you're well " will suffice. And you get to clear out a few cards.  (You will have to find a pen, find the address and brave the outside world to buy stamps.  But you'll manage.)

A final frontier - those cute miniature tubes of face-cream, the little gift with purchase or the complimentary airline "comfort" pouches. We love a gift and when we get home, we just dump it and forget it.  But these small things can still cause  a twinge of guilt when you spot them at the back of the drawer.

Gather them all together, and into a small jar squeeze them out, slit them open with nail scissors; the lotions that promised to resurrect, soothe, lift, hydrate, moisturise, detoxify, brighten, perfect, replenish, relax; the serums, the night, the day, the eye creams, the neck creams.  Blend with a saté stick.  

This will make a good hand-balm and with all the hand washing and alcohol sanitiser, you're going to need it.  (And trust me, you won't grow eye lashes on your wrist by transporting eye cream to an alien area.)

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