Monday, February 16, 2015

Transition Shelves

In our home, my Command Central is my sewing room.  That's where I do mending, where I lock up the boys' meds, where I sort mail and pay bills every Saturday, and where I store our financial records.  So figuring out how to move things from other areas of the house into my sewing room, without constantly running up and down the stairs, requires its own little organizational trick.  Just like most rooms in my home have a trash can, several rooms in my home have a "Sewing Room Bin".

In my bedroom, the Sewing Room Bin is a basket under my night stand.

By the door, there's a "mail bin" where my kids and husband put incoming mail and other important papers for me.

And in my office, there's a designated "take home" shelf (above the CD player and below the multi-colored paper).
I take home papers from work just about every day.  But the other bins, I take them upstairs only when they get full, or on Saturdays at bill-paying time, whichever comes first.  Y'know, sort of like other people take out trash.

Getting things from one busy area to another:  any good organizational guru knows how important that is.  It's why, when you declutter a room, you're supposed to bring in special bins designated as "trash"/"donate"/"recycle".

I like my "transition shelf" system; I can get papers and mending off of the bed/counter/table so they don't clutter up my living space, and I know won't lose them or forget them.   I have other, more amorphous and temporary piles for things like "take to the library", but my Sewing Room stuff never gets mixed in with those other things that need to leave the bedroom/house.  So I can trust that I'm not losing important papers, and I know that those papers and mending piles will be ready for me when I'm ready for them.

Nice, eh?

Friday, February 13, 2015


For the past few years, I've sent our far-flung relative e-photos for Valentines' Day. Here's this year's photo, as suggested by N-son.

Three people, six feet.  Can you tell which toes belong to N-son, J-son, or me?

What I love about this photo is that it's so hard to tell our feet apart, either by color or by size. (Hint: J-son has hearts on his toes).

Happy Valen-feet day!