Jeans Pool

I should load 'em up and take them to the Bonner Country Transfer Station Mall cuz, Lord' knows, they take up enough room in my house.  And, certainly the customers there, where the price is always right,  would have a shopping heydey.

Jeans were on the move here yesterday as the rain continued to pitter pat, pitter pat nonstop on our roof.  With no let-up of the steady downpour in sight, I decided to tackle the shelves in the downstairs bathroom where I keep a good portion of my clothes.

It's nice to have shirts and pants easily accessible after I step out of the tub in the morning, so those storage shelves have had a work-out over the past five years.  

After completing that rainy-day project, which took most of the day, I don't know how the shelves have withstood the weight of all those clothes and towels. While adding to the inventory and resorting to stuffing rather than stacking, I've used up every square inch of board space and air space between the boards.

Yesterday's sort-out-and-organize project sprouted from the ongoing SSC aka Social Security Card search.  

Let me tell you.  If you want to clean your house, lose your Social Security Card. I can feel a pleasant lightness in the air these days as I walk through the garage, my upstairs office and, now, the bathroom.

There's a new abundance of welcome space where clutter,  piled up over the last few years,  has been reduced to barer bones clutter.  I'd hate to remove it all so some has survived, like my jeans.

I could easily remove at least three dozen pairs of my jeans.  Instead, yesterday's sort-outs of Lee Riders, Levi's, etc. from the assortment on the bathroom shelves moved upstairs to one of the storage rooms.

I cannot bring myself to throw away those jeans, even the tent-sized pairs covered with fence paint and properly aged with ragged cuffs. 

It's easy for me to throw away old, thread-bare underpants or torn tops and even frayed bras with hooks missing or twisted hooks that jab me in the back. 

I have no problem parting with any of those items.  Heck, I even sorted out a bunch of old shoes, many not worn for five years,  and put them in a bag bound for the dump.

My jeans are a different story, however, and their life expectancy/job security or whatever you want to call it here at the Lovestead is directly related to my ongoing fear of fat. 

You see when a person has lived almost 65 years in various stages of fluctuating fat, the thought of NOT having at least a couple of pairs of jeans available in different sizes---cooperative jeans that will zip shut on command rather than only in certain body  contortions or positions like lying on the bed---this fear can be downright paralyzing.

So, my jeans stay, and they continue to take up space.  Many pairs remain here specifically for those times when I'm taking up more space myself or, for those extremely rare occurrences, when I'm taking up less space. 

Right now, about eight pair---boot cut and straight leg, tall and normal, designer and practical, lighter-colored and dark denim---are neatly folded on the bottom shelf in the bathroom. 

All pairs in this premium pile currently zip shut without rebellion.

So, they have earned a place of honor among the 20-something turtlenecks and 20-something polo shirts, now neatly folded and in place on the shelves.  Sweatshirts and sweaters also have their place as do the towels.  On the top shelf are piles of summer wear.  

My newly organized storage area is likely to endure some upheaval when colder weather comes.  Then, I'll have to pull out the pairs of flannel-lined jeans that still fit and zip.  They take up a lot of space.

So, it's for sure a few of the current prime pile will take up temporary residence in another area of the house. 

Yup, jeans do present an ongoing challenge for me, not only on my body but in my home.  

I'm wondering if my last request will require a certain pair of the Lovestead inventory to be included as part of my clothing ensemble for eternity.  

One thing is for sure:  the chosen pair will need to zip shut with ease, and then someone else besides me can worry about clearing the house of Marianne's jeans pool and hauling them off to the transfer station mall.