"tammy" as a verb

"Did you just tammy my glass?" my son-in-law, Michael, said to Heidi.
"Oh, jeez. Yes, I did," she answered.
I'm not in the habit of eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern me, but it was hard not to hear my name.
"What did you say?" I casually asked.

Knowing that I'm not easily offended, Michael went on to tell me that my name had become a verb.  I'd like to say that I needed an explanation, but alas, no one did.  I didn't, Earl didn't, and certainly my son and daughter-in-law didn't.

tammy: (verb) To collect, wash, and return an item to its place while it is temporarily unattended, but still in use.

My premature dishwashing is unintentional, but obviously frequent enough.  I didn't used to be this way.  As I've said in previous posts, I've never been known as a stellar housekeeper.  How did I develop the bit of OCD* I'd always thought would be useful?  How did that bit of OCD become a verb–ized name?  Did I lose my grip? 

I'm going to say No. Rather, I am an organizational diva. It is my blog, after all. 

Years ago, we were visiting the home of Patricia.  She knew where every possession she owned was located; it was amazing.  Her sister, demonstrating her skills, asked "Where is your brown, medium–width belt?"  She responded without thinking, "My bedroom dresser, third drawer, left side".  There it was, neatly coiled and next to other belts.  At the time, words like Compulsive, Controlling, and Weird came to mind.  I had to own up to my sour grapes attitude.  Truth be told, there was also a twinge of envy.

So, how did Patricia have the time to do that?  I knew she was a very busy attorney, had a horrendous travel schedule, and spent limited time in her home.  When pressed about what motivated her state of hyper–organization, she revealed her secret—time.  She didn't have the time to be anything but organized.  Everything had a place, so it could be retrieved immediately.  I didn't get it then. I believed adequate time and skill were prerequisite to being organized.  Recently, I asked her sister to tell Patricia that I get it now.

Before ataxia limited my activities, I was certain a full time job and family minimized the order I could provide and maintain in our home.  Although Earl and I appreciated organization, we just never got around to it.  Periodically, I would have a block of time and go to work on a closet, a drawer, or an office.  In hindsight, it was like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.  I just couldn't get rid of anything that might be useful in the future, was a gift, cost a lot of money–blah, blah, blah.  My organizational efforts were a series of false starts.  After I retired, the home, rather than the job setting, became my primary location.  I found myself getting irritated by things that never used to bother me.  My mission became creating order out of chaos.  Even Skeeter wasn't immune. I would go through her side bag to clean and reorganize on a regular basis.

I honestly believe eliminating excess stuff takes upfront effort, but does save both time and money in the long run.  However, like recycling, it can either be viewed as a chore or a way of being.  Having ataxia and limited mobility motivated me to minimize possessions, retrieve things efficiently, and be able to tell others where something is or belongs.  Some people appreciate it, others use words like Compulsive, Controlling, and Weird.

There are many decluttering strategies out there, but I had to find some that resonated with me.  Probably the most significant notion that stuck was the better home.  It was easier to let go, knowing that if we didn't want it, someone else did.  It sounded good and helped start the process.  However, it also led to my reputation as an unsentimental divester of anything.  I believe I have a balanced approach to decluttering, but also know some people just don't care.  In reality, I'm probably somewhere on the OCD spectrum.  I'm happy to share my guiding principles when asked, but have learned to keep my lip zipped otherwise.  If I'm ever found bludgeoned to death, revenge for ruthless decluttering is very likely to be the motive.

I do have some strategies that worked for me and didn't offend anyone.
—My friend, having limited closet space, shared "One new in, one old out".  I mostly observe that. 
—If it's not important or beautiful, Craigslist it.  I'm medium good at that.
—If it hasn't been used in the last year, it goes to a more loving home.  I'm too good at that.

Earl likes to say to guests, "Be careful.  If you stand still long enough, she'll tammy you."

Ha, ha—very funny.


The lesson:  Less is more


* I do believe many of us have at least a touch of OCD and the term is both over and misused.  It isn't truly clinical Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but rather, the need for control in some arena(s).