I just spent the last several hours cleaning and reorganizing my pantry. I had to, because my friend and former neighbor moved (not too far) this weekend and gave me some gorgeous, gorgeous, heavy pots and pans. I couldn't stick them into the pantry as it was, because there was no order. New stuff in old chaos didn't seem like a good idea. So I took it all apart, cleaned everything that was cleanable--the floor, the old pots and pans, storage containers--and rearranged the stuff that wasn't--canned food, boxes of pasta, oils, vinegars, cereal, the shelf where I keep trash bags and sandwich bags, freezer bags and aluminum foil--and threw away all the scary 2/3rds empty boxes of crackers and bags of stale chips, and now it's really, really pretty and oranized and clean and I can reach my pots and pans without knocking down a tower of mismatched wanna-be tupperware, and I can reach for the balsalmic knowing that I won't accidentally pick up lighter fluid.
Tomorrow, my clothes closet. Shoes I haven't worn in two years and/or shoes with the toe leather worn/torn away are out.
Wednesday, school starts. I'm ready, but not into it. At all.
But I LOVE my new pots and pans. Tonight I used some of them to make my dinner and I realized, as I served myself perfect rice that wasn't stuck to the bottom of the pan, how much not having decent things to cook with keeps me from wanting to cook anything at all.