Luckily nobody can come into my house these days.  The last person who visited came in and offered to help me declutter instead.

Clutter?  This is my stuff!

I love my things.  It took me decades to collect them, and they bring me joy.

I am happy being a clutterbug,  KonMari was a catastrophe for me.  FlyLady failed me. But I have rearranged my furniture and hung my Feng Shui crystals, so I will be fine.  No need for outside intervention and no need for self-help guides; I cannot “edit” my home, and I don’t do minimalism.

No need for support groups, either, I do not have a problem.  I am a happy clutterbug and I plan to stay that way.

I like having whatever I may need at my fingertips at all times.  And lots of people rely on the fact that if they need scissors to cut wavy lines or circular knitting needles or 100 empty toilet paper rolls, a bucket of pine cones, a black vampire cape, a tail, or a half sheet cake pan, I have it.  I also have glitter face powder, a pair of Roman sandals with a toga, and an orange blouse with floating Bruegger’s bagels all over. And I have two packages of only black construction paper, so for many years every time Halloween rolled around, I was the go-to destination for black construction paper, white foam ghosts, googly eyes and orange glitter—all stored in my Halloween Arts and Crafts bin and various other locations throughout the house for when the need arises.

Already I can feel certain friends across the country reading this list and getting antsy to rush right over and offer to “help” me declutter  No thanks, I don’t need help. I am a proud clutterbug.

Until a few months ago, I had a gold-painted rock with eyes, but after forty years of owning him, I felt it was time to let this treasure bring joy to someone else.  I offered him to a loving home on Buy Nothing Mt. Lebanon, and after screening the numerous applicants, I sent him off to a new home where the new owner assured me he would be loved.

There is a big difference between being a clutterbug and hoarding, which I am sometimes accused of doing:  A hoarder would never have let that gold rock go.

Sure there are arguments for “decluttering.”  But now that I have been isolated in my house for a few weeks, I am glad that I have 5,000 pistachio shells to hot glue into little flower shapes.  My mason jar collection has come in handy, too: I save time by making three gallons of iced tea at a time and pre-filling mason jars to store in the refrigerator for when I want a drink.  I am using all my exotic herbs and spices and I finally opened one of the bottles of capers that I collected. And I am happy with my yarn collection, which has already metamorphosed into a bunch of baby blankets.

OK, so there aren’t any babies in the family to give them to yet, but someday there will be so I save the baby blankets and stack them neatly in a linen closet, waiting for that day when someone I know, somewhere, will have a baby.  And it’s at that moment in time that I will rush to find those baby blankets because at that moment in the future in that closet among the unmatched socks and partially used hotel soaps, those blankets will have metamorphosed from being “clutter” to being “heirlooms” and I will have morphed from being a clutterbug to being an amazing woman with incredible foresight and preparedness.