My happy place

November 4, 2006

If you’ve visited my room – or rooms – any day since I was oh…11, you know that I have a tendency to be an organized pack rat.

The fact that people can’t understand how the mountains of clothes, toys, gadgets and junk are organized is their own failing that should be discussed with someone at an hourly rate.

Keeping stuff around me is a comfort but I know where to draw the line. I won’t keep clothes that I hate or that don’t fit me.

Well, except for that Miami Dolphins’ jacket from when I was nine.

Or the crate full of Beanie Babies that have got to be worth something. I’m just afraid that when they discover Princess Diana alive on some Caribbean island, my collection will drop in value.

But I draw the line at lawn clippings…or technically my lawn. That’s right, I’m against keeping extra lawn or leaves around the house.

Evidently my neighbor didn’t believe this to be true when he mowed my lawn the other day.

That’s right. To the complete horror of my mother and the family name, I had let my lawn get so long that he was losing his children in it, so he took out his mower and cut a swath through the jungle next to my house.

I wouldn’t be annoyed with him for doing this (and actually I’m not), but why couldn’t he finish the lawn. By mowing 1/3 of my yard he compelled me to mow the rest of it.

Stay with me. The trouble here is that it’s NOVEMBER and I had planned to let the snow take care of the extra grass. The fact I hadn’t mowed since September shouldn’t be an issue. It has been cold and the lawn growth has slowed considerably over the last month.

So on a bitter cold November afternoon, some guy I hired had to suffer while mowing my lawn while I took inventory of my other stuff.

Next thing you know, my used golf ball collection or hundreds of computer floppies will be targeted by some well-meaning interloper.

And that won’t make this a happy place at all.