DeClutter: Oh Vey!

The first part of my dream is now a reality. I'm trading in a 3000 square foot home (with an additional 1000 square feet of storage space in our basement) for a two bedroom, two bath apartment in Gramercy. Dream?, some of you say, but yes, my dream. No, no, I can't complain about any of this, although the most casual tour of our jam packed house throws me into another panic attack, since I've dreamed, wanted, prayed, yelled, demanded, cajoled, begged on bended knees, sobbed, pleaded, prayed, screamed at God, my husband, and anyone else who would listen to make this fantasy, dream of mine, become a reality. So, how can I start off this new adventure kvetching about decluttering our lives? Right? Right.

But let me say, this task of paring down is like some strange archaeological dig into my obsessions, diversions, and plain craziness. Who, other than a professional baker, needs an industrial size bag of flour? Well, it seems I needed it since it is in our basement. Yes, I bake to relieve stress, although my obsessiveness turns what is supposed to be an enjoyable event into an EVENT. Hence, the very large, very heavy, bag of flour. That bag is just one sad testament to the diversions I've created for myself here to "keep sane," as I would say in my defense to my husband. So, before the movers even arrive, I will be decluttering my life. And in the process, I will be dissecting my time spent in Los Angeles, a city that has been the source of so much of my antipathy, most unfairly, I'm sure.

While I'm sorting through all this crap, I will be baking because that's what a sane person does when they have to move their entire life 3000 miles away. I will be trying to make my way through that bag of flour. Despite all of my ceaseless, annoying complaints about life here, I've been able to amass a wide circle of people who call themselves my friends. Or so they say to me. And at a loss as to how I should say 'good-bye,' I've been struck by such a creative idea: bake each person a goody. I did mention a certain, certifiable lunacy on my part coupled with my obsessiveness, right? Yes, so as I go on endless lunches, dinners, cocktail parties, so many events to say our farewells, I will come armed with a pound cake, or a dozen cookies, or some coconut cupcakes, or a pie, or a Tiramisu, or maybe even an angel food cake. You see the logic here, right? Bake my way through that bag that is used by bakeries, so I don't waste the $8.00 I spent to purchase it. Only if this unusual heat wave would abate, so that my house thermostat doesn't climb into the triple digits after having the Industrial oven on all day. And the fires raging behind our house doesn't threaten the fire department and police department to come to our door to tell me that I have to evacuate. You can picture me, flour all over the kitchen, the Ipod cranked to 10, telling them, "no, I can't leave since I have a cake in the oven."