I am sick of stepping over Fiona Apple

Clump #35: Remove and empty basket from clothes closet and set up new mail system.

Day four of my 30-day, 30-clump, 30-post challenge.  Can I do it?  Tune in and see!

I’m sorry, Fiona Apple, neither you nor I deserve this.  A basket of random clutter, swept together into the closet when company was on its way and long neglected.  My son subscribed to Billboard magazine, and this copy happened to be stuck on top.  Dated June 23, 2012.  Hey, there’s my slipper, too.

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Once I finally confronted it, the clump was pretty easy to dispatch.  Below: a good organizational tool!  Why was Fiona hiding it?

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Another dump-able old thing.

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I’ve asked my son, who is overseas for a year, whether I could toss his music industry magazines.  He said there were some articles he wanted to hang onto.  Where in the world could he have gotten this tendency?  So I put Fiona in his room.  Imagine something like Sunday’s Zits comic strip, below.  Ah, like mother, like son.

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I found this clipping, a Cryptoquote, in the pile: “To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.  So do it.”  –Kurt Vonnegut   I taped it in my little book of ideas and inspirations.

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When all cleared out, the basket was a handsome thing again.  I thought I could use it for an in-box for the week’s mail.  Maybe my husband and I could mix up some gin and tonics and have a regular mail-sort-through, if not every day, once a week?  After all, the root of our paper problem comes in every day from the mailbox.  (I can hear Kurt Vonnegut saying, “So do it.”  This might be my favorite line of all time.)

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On a lighter and prettier note, I have been seeing butterflies everywhere.  Is it just me, or the season?  Such a potent symbol of change.  To transform from a dull, bumbling, many-footed creature to a multicolored, flying sylph is an everyday miracle.

This plant was at an Amish farm stand where I stopped today on the way home from visiting my mother.  Multiply the one pictured by about ten — yellow butterflies were fluttering all over it, as if the flower centers offered secret messages for yellow-winged things:

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Yesterday I saw something dark at a distance in the grass, which turned out to be a butterfly.

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The closer I got, the more colors I could see.

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And, when open, the wings looked like this:

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Butterflies are telling me vividly and beautifully: change is possible.  And so it goes.

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