Some Assembly Required

I like putting things together. Not just 2 and 2, but actual things. Like furniture from Ikea. It's packed up so nice in the box, complete with instructions and a special tool that will only work for that project. Yet I always save the tool after construction, "just in case..." You never know when a friend will purchase the exact same giant wall unit, somehow misplace the tool and then call you for help. Sometimes the tool can also be used to pry open a paint can or scratch a spot on your back you can't quite reach. It doesn't say that in the instructions, but I tend to think outside the box. Consequently, I have a drawer full of mini metal wrenches, allen keys, glue bottles, leftover dowels and uniquely Swedish screwdrivers that could double as shoehorns. I'm amazed at how Ikea gets all the parts of a complete set of patio furniture into a flat box that easily slips into the back seat of a Corolla. I enjoy looking at the display samples of massive entertainment centers and then criss-crossing my way through the store, past all the tempting signs for the meatball special, to the warehouse bin where the incredibly small box of parts sits, waiting. It's hard to imagine what's in that box will eventually pop up into a shiny new shelving unit that will easily hold all your crap and then some plus a big flat screen TV, but once you put it together, voila! And the leftover box is just right for Maverick's temporary amusement, easily recycled Monday morning. I have assembled a lot of furniture in my time. I've pieced together nightstands, dressers, bookshelves, shoe organizers, wood beds, wrought iron beds, entertainment centers, kitchen tables, benches, desks, decorative carts, armoires and utility cabinets. My grandpa could build all that stuff from scratch with real tools, but it makes me feel a little capable that I can manage building those things on my own with nothing more than a screwdriver, and not always the right one. Why is it when you need a Phillips you can only find the flathead and when you need a flathead you can only find a butter knife? I'll admit I sometimes skip ahead in the instructions, especially if there are more than two steps written out under a diagram. I just look at the next picture. I don't want to read 14 paragraphs of detail. You can usually tell from the drawings where it's all headed. But I will also go back and re-read more closely when my handywork looks nothing like the picture so far. More than a few times, I've had to take something apart after finishing it because the wrong side of the board is facing out. I am also somewhat challenged by hinges and swivels. Anything requiring sensitive adjustment really depends on how much I've had to eat prior to starting the project. I have to be careful because I'm forever torn between finishing what I've started and taking a break. Breaks are dangerous. They involve a good sandwich, maybe some chips, a soda or two, what's on TV, I could use a nap...I don't necessarily want to get back to it. This means powering through to completion even when I'm not at my sharpest. Hence, doors that are a titch off when closed and drawers whose bottoms slip out and bow under the weight of their contents. Acceptable when you're contemplating a BLT. Not so hot when you're proudly touring your place and someone says, oh, is one side of that shelf higher than the other? Well no wonder all those candles are in the corner! Sometimes I'm really in the mood to put something together. Like the time my mom decided to sell our bunk beds. They were in the basement, so I took them apart, carried them upstairs and reassembled them in the garage for the sale. Sometimes I'm called upon in the darkest hour to whip pieces into place. One year my brother got a bike for Christmas. It came in a box, wheels and tubes, frame, seat, handlebars all in disarray, and I was in the basement till after midnight cranking it whole. Sometimes, admittedly, I dread a project in a box. One word: mini-blinds. A 4" x 4" square of instructions in 4 pt. Arial with a lone diagram that looks more like a football play is not enough. I can see why some people resort to newspaper or two pushpins and a towel for window treatments. For the most part, I'm game for anything that works like Legos. I loved them as a kid, but it's a little weird to still ask for them for Christmas. Since no one has taken me up on it in 30 years, I live vicariously through my nephew, Aidan. And I have to say, I was never one for dollhouses, but boy did I miss out. I put one of those babies together for my niece this past Christmas and by the time I snapped the roof into place I was thinking, I'm a girl. It would be all right to have one of these in my house, right? While we were arranging the little furniture (which, sadly, came assembled) on the various floors and making up soap operas, I was thinking, seriously, I could put one up in the loft and my nieces can play with it when they come over! Never mind they're 777 miles away and don't exactly drop by on random evenings looking for toys...but hey, "just in case." Air quotes make it okay to build more than one, right?

The Chicken or The Egg

My recent trip to The Container Store was a revelation. Apparently, stuff made to hold other stuff is very popular. I wish I were more organized. People say I'm organized, but that's usually right after I've cleaned out my backpack at the airport and am able to quickly access a pen for the stranger in the seat next to me. If he'd been on the earlier leg of the trip and I didn't have a three-hour layover, the pen would have been covered in nacho cheese dorito dander and probably not functional. I think I have an organized mind. Like I know where stuff is in my brain and how to access it, even if some things are farther back on the shelf than others. But outwardly, when it comes to physical things I have and where they go, it's a bit of a crap shoot these days. Early in life, I was pretty good at having a place for everything and everything in its place. I was very particular about how things lined up on shelves and the color coordination of items in my closet. I used to carefully stack my Christmas presents as I received them, folding up the wrapping paper for possible re-use. I loved Legos. I would play Tetris for days at a time. I loved solving puzzles. All of these things suggest I enjoy order and the satisfaction of finding an exact fit for something loose. Let me just tell you how things have changed. My desk at work is a great example of my new "if I can't see it I won't remember it and it no longer exists" approach to organization. It is a clear sign I have crossed the 40 mark. I am actually afraid to file. That's why all of my files are stacked on my desk or on the floor to my right. I'm even more afraid to go through these files and eliminate what may no longer be needed. What if I still need it?! Like these handwritten notes from 2005 listing what I needed to do on Tuesday (no known month or date). Did I call the plumber? Did I pick up cat litter? These are in the margin of notes from a meeting about IP addresses. This folder is labeled I.T. Better hang onto it a little longer. Just move it to the bottom of the pile. Other stuff I'm staring at right now on my desk: two empty milk chug bottles, three empty water cooler cups, a small 20GB flash drive, a Sharpie, two business cards - one is a new dentist I've been meaning to call for four months, the other is fellow comedienne Chantal Carrere's - a cute picture of Meg, a Bliss card that says "How beautiful it is to be alive!" by Henry Septimus Sutton (I'm gonna Google that guy), a rolodex with Kirsta Grapentine's business card up, my office phone, my Bad Cat calendar, a rubber tree frog, a box of mini-dv tapes for a camera I no longer have, a box of business cards, post-its that say "Oh, Boo-Frickin'-Hoo Have a Cocktail and Get Over It," Burt's Bees chapstick, a second Sharpie, an automatic pencil sans lead, a pen, three grow your own tree kits, a lined notepad on top of a clipboard, an LPGA ball marker, a third Sharpie, mints, two golf booklets by Cindy and Allen Miller written in 1990, Norwegian coins, a tape dispenser, my cell phone, a James Brandess mouse pad and of course, my laptop. How big is my desk, you ask? I guess too big. If I felt encroached upon, maybe I would put some of this crap away. But then I would wonder where I put it. I think it comes down to labeling. I've thought about it over the years, and while I would thoroughly enjoy getting containers and drawers and cabinets and see-through boxes and an entire wall of shelves for three-ring binders and photo boxes and pencil boxes and CD/DVD towers and little bowls for stray coins and paper clips, I am horrified by having to categorize. I'm really good at contents. I can tell you what each individual thing is and what it means to me. But if you want me to group these things together so they can go in the same box with a lid on it and then you want me to write in one word what's in there...we could be here a while. As you might imagine, moving is torture for me. Well, normal moving, I should say. The kind of moving where you put all the stuff from the kitchen in several boxes, wrapped neatly for a safe journey. Maybe you take a polaroid of the dishes before you put them in the box and then you tape the picture to the outside of that box. It takes freakin' forever and the light's never right for the photos and some of the boxes are only half full cuz all the stuff from just that one room doesn't fit together. My kind of moving is torture for others. I start out great - the first few boxes actually have things from the same room in them. Then I branch out because I'm more concerned with how stuff FITS in the box then whether or not it relates to anything else in the box. You'd be surprised how perfectly full you can make a box when you have the entire house to pull from. I usually forget to take the picture until the box is either A.) full, at which time I take a picture of the open box and what's on top, or B.) taped up, at which time I take a picture of the taped up box and tape the picture to the box to remind me that there's stuff in there from everywhere and I should just open it to find out what! And all of the boxes follow my simple labeling system of what room the stuff mostly came from, which is helpful when re-distributing the boxes on the other side. Helpful if you are moving from, say a dorm room to a dorm room (all boxes say dorm room). Not so much if you are moving from a dorm room to a house (all boxes say dorm room). I think I can be good at labels. And I can be good at filling boxes. But not at the same time. I excel at either one or the other at any given moment. Right now I can think of several good labels. Office Supplies. Printer Cartridges. Sharpies. But the box for the Sharpies is too big. So I'll throw in some paper clips, pens, blank disks and two lanyards I just found in a drawer to top it off. Now I need a new label. Office Supplies? But not all my supplies are gonna fit in there, so I'm gonna need a bigger box. Then I'll have to change my Sharpie box to something else. I think my approach to organization is a lot like my approach to writing. I can come up with really good titles all day long. But heaven forbid if I should actually write the book or screenplay behind the title. Conversely, I have written numerous chapters for books and scenes from movies or plays that have no title. Collectively, I have organizer's block AND writer's block. I am just one big Chinese finger puzzle. Someone needs to pour me a cocktail so I can get over it. And figure out which comes first: category or content? the label or the box?!