My closet finally gave way last week. Sometime in the wee hours I heard a crash. With a few nearly impossible deadlines looming, extended family in for the holidays and days without decent rest, I was a bit tired. I needed to make sure I was down for the count with the aid of a few sleeping pillies. So when the crash of the closet came, I looked up, looked at my dog and put my head back down. I wasn’t getting out of bed. I told myself, surely the crash was the ice storm outside.
The husband next to me did not stir. Until the following morning when he saw the closet doors bulging. The rule I set in our home is no talking, no sudden movements and most certainly no loud noises until after the second cup of coffee. Which he respected, and then it came…
Apparently, I have too many clothes. I cannot believe that otherwise I would not have been holding my head in my hands wondering what to wear to Christmas parties this season. The bar that fell was beyond repair and the holes in either side of the walls were enormous, puffing out bits of plaster relieved of their responsibility to carry so much weight. There was no time to find a replacement. So my clothing sat on the floor and I could only ferret out a skirt and a sweater which I wore Christmas Eve and Christmas day and the next day until stores opened back up. The guilt I felt for my few pairs of shoes buried underneath the rubble unable to breathe was acute. And then I felt guilty about feeling guilty over shoes when there are so many unfortunate and real situations in life that I should feel guilty about. Everyone surely has one or two, three or even four pairs of shoes -- the kind that are so fabulous to the eye and cost beyond anything reasonable. The kind you simply cannot financially justify splurging on, but you do, contort your face and look away as you hand the credit card over to the sales clerk.
The husband next to me did not stir. Until the following morning when he saw the closet doors bulging. The rule I set in our home is no talking, no sudden movements and most certainly no loud noises until after the second cup of coffee. Which he respected, and then it came…
Apparently, I have too many clothes. I cannot believe that otherwise I would not have been holding my head in my hands wondering what to wear to Christmas parties this season. The bar that fell was beyond repair and the holes in either side of the walls were enormous, puffing out bits of plaster relieved of their responsibility to carry so much weight. There was no time to find a replacement. So my clothing sat on the floor and I could only ferret out a skirt and a sweater which I wore Christmas Eve and Christmas day and the next day until stores opened back up. The guilt I felt for my few pairs of shoes buried underneath the rubble unable to breathe was acute. And then I felt guilty about feeling guilty over shoes when there are so many unfortunate and real situations in life that I should feel guilty about. Everyone surely has one or two, three or even four pairs of shoes -- the kind that are so fabulous to the eye and cost beyond anything reasonable. The kind you simply cannot financially justify splurging on, but you do, contort your face and look away as you hand the credit card over to the sales clerk.
Stores opened back up and my thoughtful husband ventured out in the wet icy snow to find a 7’-0” long new pole. He came home to tell me there weren’t any. So I sent him off to purchase a hanging rack. A quarter of the width of my closet, I tripled up my clothing on hangers and hooked them on the rack. Uncovering my poor overly-expensive shoes below, I picked them up and cradled them (kidding, not really) before I set them gingerly aside on the floor. I also set several of my handbags on the rack above. Before nodding off that evening in a particularly pleasant haze that certain sleeping pills give me, I noticed the rack was leaning a bit. I was soon fast asleep. I had a lot of work to do the following day.
In the wee hours of the morning, I awoke yet again to my clothing rack crashing down on the bed – handbags flying, dresses, pants, skirts suffocating me. Husband didn’t stir. I’m the one on the pills.
I shoved everything back in the closet. The next morning, the husband said I have too many handbags. It was the weight of so many handbags that caused the rack to topple over. That simply is not true.
I shoved everything back in the closet. The next morning, the husband said I have too many handbags. It was the weight of so many handbags that caused the rack to topple over. That simply is not true.
On my extensive “attempt to accomplish” list for 2009, I vow to get myself a new closet. I’ve changed the once “must” to “attempt” as the years pass, I find myself a bit more realistic. Although I crave any of the above closet designs, it simply isn’t in my budget. I have a modest reach-in closet and well, because of this recession there have been some cut backs. Hanging rods and cubby holes for shoes… that is all I need. In an ideal world, I would see a move into a much larger, brighter residence with an unlimited budget to convert an extra bedroom into a closet of my dreams (I haven't decided on a finish just yet...) But realism, unfortunately prevails.
Street in Elora, Ontario after an ice storm – photo taken sometime between 1900 and 1919 by John R. Connon (1862-1931) was a professional photographer and inventor of photographic equipment active in Elora, Ontario in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Closets by LA Closet Design
Street in Elora, Ontario after an ice storm – photo taken sometime between 1900 and 1919 by John R. Connon (1862-1931) was a professional photographer and inventor of photographic equipment active in Elora, Ontario in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Closets by LA Closet Design
