Cleaning out my closet

My shipment from Africa has arrived!

As suspected, my apartment suddenly seems simultaneously small and like a cheesy African craft market. Even when trying to select only 1/8 of the crafts to put on display it looks a bit silly and certainly cluttered in this little apartment. The long term solution of a bigger place has taken on more of a priority, but the fact that my dog cannot navigate safe passage to the back patio dictates that I put a short term plan in place.

This morning, after a phone interview, I started trying to squeeze things into place which inadvertently triggered a Winter-to-Spring closet transformation. I believe I speak for all women when I say that we love this. Not the chore of it, but rather the discovery of favorite skirts from seasons past and shoes! Oh to unpack my sandals; lots and lots of sandals. I haven’t seen some of my stuff for a season and some stuff has been in storage and hasn’t seen the light of day for years. Some items in storage inevitably become victim of expired fashion trends. I found an olive green baby doll dress that although dominated the fashion trends in the late eighties and had a brief resurgence in 2003 did not survive to the fashion present. Other perennials not only get dusted off, but also trigger memories of wearing them. I found my knock ‘em dead shirt dress that I loved to sashay in through the UN corridors in New York.

Randomly I found the hood/scarf thingy that I’m sure has a proper Persian name that I wore in Iran. I remember having so much trouble getting it to stay on my face so that absolutely not one iota of my considerably curly hair was visible. This was a necessity on the day we visited the holy city of Qom. On the way, we stopped at a rest stop and I went in to buy some cherry juice. When I entered these two young girls started smiling a lot and shrieking a bit and gesturing me to the back of the stall. Without asking my permission (well in English at least) they whisked off the scarf, reorganized and flung it back on my head in seconds. It was PERFECT. It felt better and it looked so good and contained my mop of curls so well that I thought perhaps I could wear this scarf thingy at home too. (Seemed like a better idea in Iran than when I did get home.)It was also one of the few moments I had in Iran to interact with ordinary Iranians, especially a young woman.

So the switch is made. My sweaters are in the sizeable pile that’s heading off to the storage unit, along with baskets and masks and other African knickknacks. I managed to create an acceptable shoe storage container from an African fishing basket. It has holes throughout that allows the shoes to breathe, and I can view them all at once so that none of them get jealous. You know how it is…