I promised myself I wouldn't make any declarations of New Years Resolutions.
Instead, I have decided to declare war.
The first rule of war is all great wars must have a name. The War of 1812. The Revolutionary War. The Spanish-American War. I have dubbed my war:
The War of Good God Almighty
Where Did All This Crap Come From?
This, of course, is a horrible name, prepositionally speaking. But remember: War is hell. So is grammar. We all have to make sacrifices, meaning there will be much from which we must deal. See? Moving on...
The second rule of war is to have a coat of arms, or a banner or a flag or something. My coat of arms would display a trash can, a flame-thrower, an empty suitcase and a deceased rodent: The Rat Formerly Known as St. Benjamin of Packratovia.
The third rule of war is to have a songs of inspiration. I'm still working on these. Suggestions are welcome.
The fourth rule of war is to know your enemy:
Crap in all shapes and forms Crap
The fifth rule of war is to have rules:
Get Rid of the Crap
Do Not Keep Crap
"Just in case" -- "For later" -- and, "When I lose weight" are forbidden
Remember to Get Rid of the Crap
It seems easy enough. And in this house there is enough stuff for ten Tunas plus two. But the house itself only has room for two Tunas plus zero. So, it's time to Throw. Toss. Pitch. Heave. Cull. Eradicate. Exorcise. Flush. You name it.
It's going to take a long time. So long, I'll be logging my own real-time archeological dig. I keep telling myself it will be fun. That, of course, is a blatant lie, but right now, I'm pretending to believe myself. I'm pretty gullible that way.
So, because I actually declared war three days ago, here is a recap of the battles you have missed thus far:
Day One -- Kitchen cleanup.
Best Toss: Six different jars of mustard.
Tuna's Helpful Hint: Mustard with the consistency of spackle is not good.
Archeological Find of the Day: Palm Sunday Palm Crosses behind the stove. Date unsure. Extra prayers probably required so I don't end up eating dinner with Beelzebub.
Day Two -- Magazine-a-Rama
Best Toss: Approximately 150 magazines. I did not count each and every one of these. I calculated the number by factoring the intensity of ten-year-old sighs with the drama it took to lug these puppies to the car.
Tuna's Amazing Discovery: Every single non-cooking magazine had the same front page banner: Walk off the Weight. Strangely enough, not one single cooking magazine EVER had a front page banner saying: Walk off the Weight. Coincidence? I think not. Now, either Walk off the Weight appears on the cover of every women's magazine every single month, or I cannot simply cannot remember the directions. I fear the answer.
Archeological Find of the Day: Newsweek Magazine Special Edition following September 11th. Despite the potential collectibility 100 years down the road, I tossed it anyway. Antiques Roadshow, I'm not.
Day Three -- Coat Closet
Best Toss: Twenty or so coats, plus 3 pairs of too-small snow boots.
Tuna's Fashion Tip: Vests are entirely impractical for Mitten State winters. So I only kept one.
Tuna's Amazing Discovery: TinyTuna has a zipper deficiency. I have a button deficiency. Hers are broken. Mine are gone. No wonder we're cold.
Archeological Find of the Day: A fetching corduroy coat worn during my expectant TinyTuna days. That's 10-years old, people, and this baby has shoulder pads enough to make the defensive line of The Pittsburgh Steelers sit up and take notice.
Day Four Preview -- Games
GreenTuna. In the Living Room. With a Flamethrower