By the age of 53, you would think I'd learned the fine art of organization. But maybe it has nothing to do with age. Probably it's genetic. Here's where I get to blame my parents for something -- my tendency toward disorganization. It's all their fault.

So here I am...married to Mr. Organization himself. I'd hoped that after 30 years of marriage, I'd have gained some of his skills through osmosis. Nope. Hasn't happened.

Case in point: my sewing room. The door is usually shut if (a) there is more than one dog in the house, and (b) there's an outside chance that someone from the "outside" might pop in and just perchance, need to partake of the "facilities" and get a peek at my sunny yellow sewing room.

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