Not often. But sometimes. At work yesterday, when my thoughts were going free range as I sat on hold, I came to the conclusion that it was time to tackle my closet. Before I went to bed I had the wire shelf and its hardware down. And well over a dozen truly hideous holes in the wall.
What to do? When I woke from my nap this afternoon I had all sorts of ideas about color blocking and creative ways to cover the holes. I started by putting up the first closet rod. This one will hold my long skirts. Drilled the holes, popped in the plastic sheaths, drove the screws, dropped in the rod. Hung up a skirt. Perfect, or nearly so.
Held up some cork squares, en pointe. Nope. Not the look I was going for. My Norman Rockwell print, in its frame, was just that much too wide. So I grabbed the City of Nauvoo unframed map I inherited from Beloved. And six clear pushpins. Problem solved.
I am blogging from Taco Bueno. After I pick up some groceries I'll install the other two closet rods. If I knew where I've stowed my French umbrella poster, I'd put it up over the holes on the opposite end wall. But those might be adequately covered by my shirts once I've hung them up.
The holes in the middle of the closet will get covered by the mirror I got from Wes and Sarah when they moved. At which point it will probably be close to midnight, and I'll put my tools away until Monday. I'll be off for my quarterly diabetes checkup. And I'm finally ready to buy a few pieces of clothing in my new, smaller size. Not an entire wardrobe. But enough shirts for work. And maybe a couple of new skirts.
Thrift shop will be getting all sorts of goodies. I spent a significant amount of time on Thursday ironing a pearl grey linen jacket that I've worn maybe three times since I bought it when Beloved was still alive. Got a good look at myself in the mirror at work. I looked like I was playing dress-up in my mommy's clothes. Time to fix that.
Small transitional wardrobe while I work on the next 25 or so pounds. I have enough scarves and earrings to keep from dying of sartorial boredom.