Every summer, Mom and I clean out the closet that we share. It is the only closet in our small apartment and, without an annual clearing-out, we would be so overrun we might unknowingly fall into Narnia the next time we reach for a pair of black pumps. (Meeting Aslan might be cool, but the Witch might not understand that I’m not sure if I’m allergic to Turkish Delight…).
That said, it’s tradition. And every year, we seem to find a better way of organizing it, and getting rid of a thing or two.
Part of the tradition has become the fact that something insane seems to happen every time we closet clean. At least since we’ve lived at this apartment. One year, my friend had a huge fight with her parents and got temporarily kicked out of her house, if I remember this right. So she slept over the night before the closet-cleaning. The next day brought mom and I having a huge, knock-down-drag-out fight as we cleaned, complete with throwing the occasional plastic hanger. Now, mom and I hardly fight and would never have fought in front of anyone, despite how close we are with them. This didn’t seem to stop the scene. We finished cleaning and, after bringing my friend home, laughed, not really sure what’s come over us.
The next year, we were mid-clean when the doorbell rang. Mom went to see who it was and when she moved the blinds, the whole thing collapsed to reveal two detectives at our door. Not regular police officers– detectives with special badges doing an investigation. Now, being two women alone (and also looking eccentric as the living room was full of piles of shoes and clothes), mom was suspicious and said she’d talk to them outside, but wouldn’t let them in. This led to a series of events which ended with regular police coming to verify that the others were really detectives, and mom talking to them– still outside– before coming back in to reassemble the closet.
The year after that, I got dizzy mid-closet. The phone rang, the contents of the closet covering my bed. It was a man I didn’t know, telling me that my grandmother, my dad’s mother, was in the hospital. He was a neighbor, who had brought her to the ER after she’d fallen outside. She’d need a ride home. My aunt and her family were on vacation and my dad was at work an hour away. My mother (my grandmother’s ex-daughter-in-law) had to drive me to the hospital so we could be with my grandmother, and eventually drop her back home.
Last year, the closet was done uneventfully. This year the trend continued. It seems we might have made a new tradition. 🙂 And I’m only about 1.5 pairs of shoes over my allotted half of the closet. 😉