So . . . I cleaned out my kitchen cabinets and lost my son's puppy.
There is no direct correlation but the lack of dear sweet Sally has put a damper on the house in general and my de-cluttering efforts in particular. What would have been a prime time to finish up the big stuff on Saturday became instead a fruitless search by Domino up and and down Dan'l Boone.
On Sunday despair sat in and I mostly just stared aimlessly at all the places she used to lay, and all the stuff she chewed on. There have been no reported sightings and I have checked all the roads for carnage (so depressing) and so all we can conclude is that she was picked up. Hopefully it was by someone well meaning who mistook her for a homeless needy animal. Though I am still hopeful every time I open the door . . .
There is also the depressing reality that more sometimes looks like less. I came home this evening and went straight to it. I handed the missing puppy flyer the mailman, did 2 loads of laundry, switched put the dishwasher, cleaned up cat poop, cooked dinner, served it, and cleaned up afterward, bathed myself and Walt, finished cleaning out the plastic ware drawer, and fed the animals. Some how the house looks worse than it did yesterday.
The reason is fairly obvious to any regular visitor to my house. My son is a animated tornado who leaves a trail of stickers, drawings, and socks in his wake. My husband is the human embodiment of inertia and my dog has a thing about trash. I can't keep up, there aren't enough hours in the day.
Still, I am determined, even if notably shaken in my resolve. This must be done. No one said it would be easy, just nobody said it would be this hard.