Taking Inventory Exercise

I could have taken inventory on any number of places in my home from the garage to the myriad of closets. I have a lot of closets. The garage is cold and dirty, and therefore quickly stricken from the list of possibilities. I will choose a closet, but which one. It comes down to mess factor. If I pick a closet that is too messy I will become sidetracked into cleaning. So, I choose the best organized closet by default. I choose to write about and take inventory of my walk-in bedroom closet.

My bedroom has two closets. It has a standard closet that belonged to my ex-husband and now stores off-season bed linens, off-season and out-of-fashion clothes, and the over flow of my shoes. My walk-in closet is not much of a walk-in to begin with and even less of one with the current state of my shoes. The heels, wedges, mules, clogs, pumps, sling-backs, peek-a-boo toe, open toe, calf-length boots, monkey boots, booties, slippers, ballet slippers, tennis shoes, and spa booties are in a pile that takes up nearly the entire closet floor. I have a bit of a shoe fetish. It is stereotypical, but it didn’t happen to me until I hit 30 years-old. I don’t know if it was a post-partum thing. Perhaps I was trying to get my mind off of my grossly disproportionate body. I was wearing a 32B bra and my mother’s size 16 pants. My feet were the only part of body that had any hope at sexy. Plus, I had become newly acquainted with Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City as my daughter’s middle of the night feeding was in sync with reruns of the show. Either way the shoe situation has run amok in closet. A mound of over-priced shoes, beautiful shoes sit on my closet floor and encroach upon the handbags. My love of shoes has not extended to a shoe tree or any sensible form of organization. Whether they are brand new or lovingly worn so I can’t read the label in the heel they get the same treatment. My closet of floor contains the flotsam and jetsam of too many shopping sprees at Nordstrom: Steve Madden, Michael Kors, Carlos by Carlos Santana, Franco Sarto, Nine West, Ed Hardy, Imagine – Vince Camuto, Paolo, Bandolino, Sofft, and Skechers.

Tucked back in the right-hand corner of the closet is my blue and white toile memory box. It contains my daughter’s baby blanket, faded and tattered, a bonnet, booties, and other baby mementos. Above this hangs a pink plastic jewelry hanger that I’ve had since I was 13 years-old, and on it hangs the necklace of diamond chips and an opal that my parents gave me for Eighth grade graduation. The other necklace is a silver heart with a tiny diamond chip that my father gave to my mother for Valentine’s Day when they were dating. A silver medal of Mother Mary from a “sighting” outside of Atlanta hangs on this same necklace. I forgot about both of these necklaces until this inventory. I dug about on the floor of the closet a bit. I had hoped to find my Tiffany’s necklace, but I did not.

Clothes. I do have clothes in my closet. The accessible shelf and the two rods hold winter clothes ranging in size from zero to size 6. I keep the zeros out, because I am delusional. I keep the sixes out because I am prepared. I keep the twos out, because they are inspiration. I keep the fours out, because I am refusing to move into the sixes. I have an unstable and unbalanced rear end. The inaccessible shelf, that requires a stool for me to stand on in order to toss the clothes up on it, holds off-season items, warm and ugly sweaters, maternity clothes, an official U.S. Navy sailor hat from an official U.S. Navy sailor issued to both of us in the early 90s, a United States flag that was on my grandpa’s coffin. My grandpa died when I was 19. The flag belongs to my brother, but I have possession until his job stops moving him around. He doesn’t want to lose it. Along with this theme is the brass crucifix hanging on the wall. It was on my grandma’s coffin. She died when I was 8. It was given directly to me. It has hung in my bedroom ever since. I am converting to Judaism, but I will always keep that crucifix in my bedroom till the day I die. I believe it provides protection over me.

One final note, at the time of this inventory a red tabby kitten, Kafka, was also in the closet making astounding leaps into the air to try and catch the string of the bare light bulb.