Finger Monsters

We had lunch at Willowood Cafe in Graton, a tiny burg with a one block long 'Main Street'. There's a good art cooperative gallery, an antique shop, a real estate office and several restaurants. Willowood Cafe has delicious fresh food, a nice outdoor eating area and a shelf of funny retro gag gifts. We spent such a long time playing with these finger monsters that we decided we'd better buy some....

There was an article in the home section of the newspaper about Marie Kondo, the Japanese maven of 'tidying'. I think I knew about her somewhere in the parts of my brain where ideas go to die, but I've never paid much attention, and certainly never watched one of her videos....

My closet requires frequent mucking out 'tidying and I thought perhaps her miracle folding technique might offer some help in the process, so I watched a YouTube video. Aside from the part about thanking the item to be folded for its service and caressing it, she folds clothes pretty much the same way I do, except my t-shirts, which form a substantial part of my wardrobe, do not stand up by themselves once folded. I don't quite see the necessity for my t-shirts to stand up...or to commune with my socks other than to pray that there are no mateless ones (but of course there will always be some sacrifices to the sock god behind the dryer). 

She is rather engrossingly adorable in exactly the way that Japanese women are. When I traveled in Japan with friends who lived there, we always joked about the high pitched, little girl voice which all Japanese women must learn at their mother's knee. We called it the 'polite voice'. (It was the one that informed me to get up when I left a message for a wake up call at the front desk in a hotel.) And of course tidiness is an absolute necessity in many traditional Japanese houses where the bedroom becomes the dining room at the flip of a futon. 

Back in the closet, the first order of business was to clear out the dust and spiderwebs which gather everywhere practically overnight, especially on the high shelves I can't reach. I must confess I lost the plot when it came to asking if a ratty old sweatshirt 'sparks joy'. No...not really, unless I seriously redefine my understanding of the word joy. The old sweatshirt may not inspire me to ecstasy, but I do have my reasons for wanting to keep it...some simple, others rather complicated. More important is the question, 'where can I put this ratty old sweatshirt so I can find it again the next time I decide to clean out the closet...?'