repost: why I declutter

Metapost: my first attempt at the newfangled blogging thing ended when I decided I no longer identified with the name I'd chosen, and thus The Organized Geek was abandoned.  However, there was some good stuff in there, and I'll be reposting a few selected entries occasionally, so they don't get entirely lost to oblivion. 

Originally posted on 05.11.12.

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Stuff is a part of life.  Stuff is accumulated, it serves various purposes, it's an indicator of wealth (did you see how big his flat-screen television was?), it makes us happy.  We need stuff, and over the course of history, most possessions have been valuable, scarce, and often important for survival. 

But that was then.  In the 'developed world,' at this point, stuff is cheap.  Ridiculously cheap.  Most things are essentially disposable; clothing, electronics, furniture, and even vehicles are all purchased with the expectation that they'll break, wear out, or fall apart in a relatively very short time and need replacing.  Where our grandparents would save up for and treasure a good winter coat for many years, we offhandedly own twenty that are all shoddy.  But it doesn't matter, because even before their short lifetimes are up, we'll probably get bored of them and buy new ones out of pure whim.  

Minimalism isn't really about not owning stuff.  It's about identifying value.  

At first blush, it might seem that the root cause of overconsumption, rampant consumer waste, and an actual topic and audience for the TV show Hoarders is over-valuing our stuff.  I can't possibly get rid of any of my twenty winter coats despite the fact that live in the tropics because I love them.  I need them.  They give me a sense of worth, and I would be losing something valuable if I didn't have them.

But let's think about this.

Is this really value?  What is value?  Is it what someone else would pay for the object, or some quantification of the pleasure or usefulness that you personally derive from it?  It's in your possession, after all.  Are you truly happier with many cheap, flimsy things than you would be with fewer really spectacularly well-made ones?  How do you know?

If you're deriving neither use nor happiness from the item, regardless of what you paid for it or what its 'original price' was, it is worthless. 

Are we, perhaps, actually under-valuing our stuff?  The phrase 'materialism' is generally used to indicate the hoarder-like behavior of accumulating stuff for the sake of accumulating stuff.  But what if we could forge a better relationship with our possessions, and genuinely care about them?  This is a fundamentally different approach.  Appreciating, taking care of, and really enjoying the things in our lives, rather than being ruled by them, seems to me to be a better form of materialism.  If you fell in love with an excellent coat, wouldn't you want it to last for years so you could go on enjoying it instead of throwing it away after a season?  Disposable culture has redefined our relationship with stuff, and not for the better.  Perhaps the problem is that we're not materialistic enough!

When I was little, I participated in the pog craze.  In case you skipped that one, it was technically based on a game developed with milk caps but turned into a pre-teen consumer frenzy in the mid-90's.  Kids bought, collected, hoarded, and traded these little cardboard discs with pictures on them.  Very rarely was the game actually played; it was mostly about the collecting process.  We'd set up little trading posts with each other, and proudly display our expansive collections.  It was quite the phenomenon.

At the time, I had some good friends who lived just down the street.  I'd go over to their house, we'd each claim a corner of the room to set up the pogs we were interested in trading, and then go visit the other 'shops' to haggle and barter.  My little mind was struck with a notion that seemed to have some merit.  My shop instituted a 'quantity for quality' policy, wherein I would encourage my friends to offer their good pogs and in exchange I'd give them piles of crappy ones.  I even made a sign.  They thought this was a wonderful deal.  They were getting ten pogs, while only surrendering one!  What a chump I was!

After a few weeks of this, my friends noticed that I'd accumulated all their high-quality (this is relative, of course.  Fundamentally they were all just silly little cardboard discs.) pogs, while they were left with piles and piles of really cheap, lower-quality ones.  They got sore about it and stopped trading with me.

If what you value is having many things, you will surely wind up with (metaphorically speaking) large piles of low-quality pogs.  Perhaps it won't be a deliberate or conscious process (my friends certainly didn't think to extrapolate the situation beyond each individual trade), but over time actions will align themselves with core values.  Then all the stuff will weigh you down

So what happens if you value good things instead?  If you can appreciate having a smaller number of things, but everything you own is your favorite thing?  Where moving is easy, and there are no piles to trip over, and all your possessions bring you joy?  Wouldn't that be marvelous?

That's why I talk so much about getting rid of things.  Not really out of any ascetic drive or sense of self-deprivation, but out of selfishness.  I want to love all my things, instead of being annoyed by how they're in the way and dusty and taking up so much space.  I want the freedom to take a job across the country and move into a smaller place.  I want to spend much less time thinking about, stressing about, and cleaning my stuff.  I want good stuff that actually enriches my life, dammit!

I'm in no way unique in this, of course, and there are many out there who are on the same journey. 

On one of the above-linked articles (I forget now which one), one comment in particular struck me:

"I don’t want to be rich, I want to be free. And freedom is worth more than stuff."

Yes.

repost: matter

Metapost: my first attempt at the newfangled blogging thing ended when I decided I no longer identified with the name I'd chosen, and thus The Organized Geek was abandoned.  However, there was some good stuff in there, and I'll be reposting a few selected entries occasionally, so they don't get entirely lost to oblivion. 

Originally posted on 03.02.12, this post is about stuff and clutter.   This week's repost is a little late, due to my being out of town for much of last week. 

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"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." --William Morris  

Stuff.

Most of us, here in 'civilization,' have far too much of it.  It's so easy to accumulate, even if you're not a shopaholic.  Gifts, souvenirs, things that might be useful one day, clothing.  Thingamajigs that were on such a good sale, you bought three just in case.

But now there are far too many things, and the piles are so deep that you can't even find *one* thingamajig, much less your two extras.  Perhaps the house is even fairly clean and organized, but there is just physically too much stuff in the way.  You get frustrated when you need to find something, because the space seems too full and you keep knocking things over.  You find yourself needing to spend an obscene amount of time cleaning, repairing, putting away, and dealing with your stuff.  That's time that could have been spent on something a lot more fun!  Imagine how much time, effort, and money you've spent just to box up, move, and unbox all your superfluous items over time.

That's how I feel.  It takes me too long to get dressed in the morning, because I just have too many options. It's not even possible to walk through most of the office/craft room, because of my huge boxes of fabric, and the last time I sewed something was probably 2006.  We keep saying we need a bigger kitchen because our stuff doesn't all fit in the cupboards, and I've given up on my once cherished notion of clear counters with no perma-clutter.  Dusting is a pain in the neck because of all the knick-nacks.

I can't help feeling that life would be less stressful if we weren't always having to move stuff around to find what we're looking for.   That means (dun dun DUUUUUN) getting rid of stuff.   Not everything, but just the junk that's in the way.  I want to clear the quantity, to make space for the quality.  Remove everything that isn't spectacular.

Until recently, I owned a truly ridiculous quantity of pretty costume jewelry.  It was literally impossible to close the lid on my jewelry box, and if I wanted to wear a necklace it was usually so entangled with all the other ones that I would give up and just not bother.  I had probably hundreds of pairs of earrings, and couldn't wear any at all due to my ears' recent manifestation of obnoxiously good taste.  I went through and purged about 75% of the necklaces and bracelets, and got rid of all but my three favorite pairs of earrings.  Those I paid an annoying amount of money to put new (gold) earwires on.  Now everything in my box is untangled, usable, and easily visible.  I've actually started wearing and enjoying my jewelry again, since I can find the piece I'm looking for.  As a plus, I brought the big bag of castoff jewelry to a friend's party, and everyone had a grand time going through it and choosing new treasures to add to her own collection.  I call that win-win!  I want that great feeling in more areas of my life.

Today I came across a fabulous new term: joy-to-stuff ratio.  This perfectly describes what I want to do in this decluttering endeavor: reduce the denominator in that expression.  I'm sure I'll set missions for myself in the future that focus on increasing the numerator, but one thing at a time.  Ultimately, it's all about maximizing one's own joy-to-stuff ratio.

There are three main barriers to getting rid of superfluous stuff, as I see it:

1. Laziness.  This one's pretty straightforward to circumvent.  This is not to say that it's easy; just simple.  Self-ass-kicking is involved.
2. But-what-if-I-need-it-someday syndrome.  This requires relaxing a bit.  The world won't end if I suddenly become a seamstress and only have one bin of fabric instead of four.  If I take up professional kazoo-playing, I'll go out and buy a damn kazoo.  The universe has a way of working out, especially for those of us who enjoy thrift shopping and yard saling.  I don't need to hang on to anything that's not awesome for me to have right now. 
3. Sentimentality.  But my great-step-aunt-seven-times-removed gave me that moldy afghan!  I can't possibly get rid of it, or I'll be haunted by guilt for the rest of my life!

It's this last one that I want to take a stab at tackling right now.  Living a life of guilt is no fun, so I'm going to give myself permission to actually feel good about clearing space in my life, even if it means no longer hanging on to sentimental (but useless) items.  This is challenging.  So I'm going to periodically write a post about some sentimental item that I'm ready to allow to leave my life.  The memories are not the items, I won't lose the memory of that special person just because I no longer have a particular bit of clutter to dust, and there are no happy-memory police who will show up on my doorstep and ticket me for getting rid of a gift from a loved one.  I'm going to explore the memories here, which are really what's important, and then allow the items to go on their way.  Here goes!

new systems

As you know, I recently got rid of between a third and half of my entire clothing collection, which was no small feat.  I collect inordinate quantities of apparel.  It's not too hard on my wallet or financial plans, because 98% of it comes from yard sales and thrift stores, but it still takes up a ding-dang lot of space.  And it was frustrating because I could rarely find a particular piece that would be buried under everything else, and/or I wouldn't even really know what all I had!   I longed for a more curated wardrobe.  

So I went through the Great Purge of 2012, and boy did it feel good.  In the wake of that, I've been iteratively tweaking and reorganizing what's left, as well as removing the occasional unused item that's still hanging around, in order to optimize the overall system.  

Today I'm going to share what seems like a silly and insignificant little lesson, but that I absolutely love. 

I recently learned how to fold. 

Okay, that sounds even less climactic than I'd thought it would be.  Everyone knows how to fold clothing right?  You learned when you were seven, and your mom couldn't stand your habit of storing everything in a pile on the floor.  Or at least you shoved your piles into drawers.  I'm not judging. 

I'd kind of thought that all ways of folding were essentially equivalent.  Take garment, make flat and reasonably neat, stack in a pile.  Take things from pile.  If you want something at the bottom of the pile, you pretty much have to take the top part of the stack off, play a precarious game of jenga and caaaaaaaarefully extract what you're after, or cause the whole thing to topple messily and ruining your organization scheme in the first place.  Oh, and if it's all in a drawer, the stuff at the bottom is nearly impossible to see anyway. 

It's a small thing, but that little bit of frustration every day can get to a person. 

Recently, via this article, I came across a different way of both folding items and of packing them into drawers.  It involves 'filing' your clothing, so that each thing is both visible and easy to extract without disrupting the overall system.  As a bonus, it turns out that you can fit SO MUCH MORE stuff in a drawer, while simultaneously making it more accessible.  Oh Ceiling Cat, what a revelation.  

This drawer, previously only holding pajamas, now holds pajamas, my swimsuit and cover-ups, long underwear, T-shirts, and tank tops.  It's not perfect, but hot damn if it isn't incredibly convenient.  

Yes, these are my socks.  Yes, they're folded and sorted into rows.  Don't judge me.   

A combination of the Great Purge, implementing a seasonal wardrobe scheme (more on that later), and this new folding method has allowed me to completely empty out my enormously bulky and heavy Dresser of Doom.  My entire wardrobe is in the closet, in a container under my bed, and in two little drawered nightstand things.  They work well enough, but ultimately I'd love to find a small dresser with more shallow drawers in it.  The contents of both nightstands could easily be combined into one piece of furniture with similar overall dimensions as one of them, if it had shallower drawers, and hence more of them.  This system leads to a lot of wasted vertical space, even as it facilitates fitting more into the drawers overall despite that limitation.  Imagine the sheer optimizing power of the filing system deployed in a more ideal environment!

Sorry, my geekiness is showing there.  

Even my underwear are folded like this.  Previously, I was of the toss-it-in-the-drawer-and-smash-it-closed persuasion, as I'd given up on any sort of organization for drawers.  But this pervading sense of order, coupled with the ability to see and get at any particular article of clothing, really makes me happy.  It's the simple things.

today I love...

...this wardrobe grid.  The author took sixteen pieces --- four each of tops, bottoms, shoes, and accessories, and arranged them in a cute little four-by-four matrix.  Then outfits are made by choosing arbitrary rows, columns, or diagonals.

I adore this.  This concept just might wind up being incorporated into my obsessive planning stages before travel from now on.  I always work hard to mix and match pieces such that I can take as little stuff as possible, and this provides yet another tool to assist in that.

Simple and brilliant!



Every Wednesday, I write about something I love that day.  It doesn't necessarily have to be remotely related to anything; it just has to be fabulous!

out of sight

I've recently observed an interesting phenomenon when it comes to my own perspective on stuff:

• Is it out where I can see it, on a shelf/hanger/pile on the floor/hook where it usually lives?  Then I'll probably pass over it when decluttering, and will come up with all sorts of rationalizations as to why it should stay. 

• Has it been moved into a go-away box or pile?  Then I cease thinking about it entirely and can easily let it go.  

Let's call it Mindless Clutter Effect.  MCE means that simply walking into a room and declaring a decluttering mission by looking around (at least for me) is probably doomed.  But if I physically touch an object, and maybe move it to a different place?  Whole new ballgame.  Let's look at an example. 

For the past few months, I've been continually pulling things out of my closet and depositing them in an ongoing 'donate' box.  Every once in a while the box got dropped off at a thrift store.  The selection process was fairly random, and just happened whenever I'd think of something that could go.  I had to work up the motivation to actually remove the thing from the closet, while leaving everything else behind.  I even tried the backwards-hanger trick, but I tended to wear everything eventually if it's there for the wearing, so that was somewhat self-defeating.  Every thing gotten rid of this way required effort to move it. 

I managed to purge maybe 20 items in several months.  

A couple of weeks ago, some friends came over to help me in my closet-cleaning mission.  We physically removed every single thing from the closet (in batches by category) and laid it all in big piles on the bed.  Then every item was held up, maybe tried on, and voted upon.  Anything with any doubts about it (poor fit, unflattering, not something I've actually worn in a while, a generic 'blah' feeling) went into the go-away pile.  The rest was looked through again briefly to see how many were left, the less-awesome pieces were revisited, and then the stuff to keep was put back into the closet.  Each thing to be kept required the effort of putting it back in the closet.

The clothing was removed from its natural habitat and backdrop (the closet), and put into a new context (on the bed).  Such a simple change, but it (along with the support of having people there to help, of course), allowed me to remove at least a third of my entire wardrobe.  The pile above is what'll go into my yard sale when I get around to having one.

What's interesting is that even though the pile has been sitting in my bedroom, totally accessible and visible, I've felt no urge to pull anything out of it.  Things in the pile that I'd previously been unable to imagine getting rid of have become irrelevant.  MCE defeated.  

The moral of the story?  Try pulling clutter out of its original context.  You might be surprised at how much easier it is to part with unnecessary stuff.  Also, have fabulous friends who think going through someone else's closet is fun!

small space fetish

I have an odd fixation on the notion of living in a small space in a city.  I romanticize the notion of being close to everything, having real public transit options, and being forced to seriously edit my mountains of crap.  To have everything I own be something I absolutely love.  To be absolutely ruthless about what is in my home.  To spend less time cleaning and organizing, and more time living.  To abolish clutter.

Granted, in reality city living is cramped, dirty, loud, and has all sorts of downsides.  My fantasy doesn't necessarily take those into account, hence the romanticization.  But fundamentally, I find myself desperate for change of some sort.  I want... different.  

Part of why I'm so obsessed with decluttering is that it feels like a step toward that goal.  The less stuff that has to be lugged around, the more freedom we'll have to jump when the next life change opportunity comes to call, whatever form it might take.  

All my life, whatever household I've been a part of has required a fairly sizeable house.  Not necessarily for the people, but for the stuff.  For some reason, saying 'this one won't work; it isn't big enough to hold all our stuff' seems perfectly reasonable in this country.  When did we start adjusting the houses to fit the accumulated junk, instead of simply living in a reasonable amount of space?

Though the average American family size has decreased about 30% since 1950 (from 3.8 to 2.6), average house size has increased more than 2.5-fold!  This is ridiculous!  That average 1950's family was living in under 1,000 square feet of space, but we still seem to be always upsizing and expanding.

Always needing more, more more... how about opting out and downsizing instead?  Living with less doesn't signify failure, and renting isn't a sign of having given up.  These things only indicates breaking free of the outdated American Dream.  What worked in the fifties due to some rather unique circumstances (the GI bill, a time of major economic prosperity, plenty of jobs, etc.) is a silly standard to still hold ourselves to.  In the current economic climate, maybe owning a house with a white picket fence no longer makes sense!  Make your own future.  Figure out what works for you.  The real you, not your fantasy self that throws perfect dinner parties and has 2.5 children.  Or maybe the fantasy self tours around the country playing the washboard in a zydeco band, but you're happier staying in one place, hopefully in a smaller (and cheaper) house than you can afford.  The point is to move beyond mindless plodding toward an outdated goal that may or may not be applicable to your unique circumstances.  

For me, I want out of the upsizing cycle.  I want the freedom that comes from focusing more on people and experiences rather than stuff.  To have more time, energy, and money not spent on maintaining/acquiring/storing stuff.  To prioritize the aspects of life that are actually important.  

Maybe this is a silly romantic notion, and maybe I'll never make it to my fantasy city.  Maybe I'll always live in three-bedroom houses.  But in the meantime, I'll keep 

But hey, a girl's got to dream, right?

american dream

'The term "American Dream" implies a paradigm of unlimited growth, insatiable consumerism, the continued expansion and plundering of our Commons, and the manufacturing of more and more stuff. There needs to be a new model of living based on having enough and sharing. Of course, there was a model of living based on having enough and sharing but we annihilated all those people.(Indigenous tribes, Native Americans ring a bell?)  

The American Dream suggests we take what we want, at any cost to other humans and ecosystems, in order to keep up with a lifestyle based on acquisition and wealth.  All the wars we hate so much, the ones about which so many of us are objecting to in various articles in here, they have a whole hell of a lot to do with keeping the American Dream alive. You really want that dream?

Many of the posters in here already know that countless scientists, authors and environmental educators have warned that the definition of the American Dream is what is decimating this planet. If all other developing countries wanted to emulate our lifestyles we'd need four more planet Earths. That's not a dream, that's a fucking nightmare come to life. 

The American Dream is synonymous with ecocide and genocide. I don't want that dream. Yet I don't know how one begins to penetrate what has amounted to years of systematic conditioning and brainwashing that "more is better". It's a monumental task of herculean proportion to change that identification. But one small way to begin might be to lose the term "American Dream". Nobody really wants that "dream" at all.'  

--Elizabeth Tjader

I came across the above statement in the comment section of an article about inequality.   I hope that Ms. Tjader doesn't mind my borrowing her quote.

It elucidates, better than I possibly could, everything that's wrong with the 'American Dream.'  The completely divorced-from-reality concept of unlimited growth, excessive consumerism as the definition of 'success,' inherent ecocide.  Disgusting, counterproductive, impractical, unfulfilling, and ultimately suicidal as a species.

Perhaps the 'American Dream' used to refer just to financial security, the opportunities of a meritocracy, and hope for desperate immigrants.  These are all good things.  But it's been co-opted so thoroughly by corporate culture that it's morphed into a mantra of 'Buy more!  If you own more things you'll be happy!  You're worthless without this object!  Go deeply into debt; it's worth it!'.  Not so healthy.

So what, you might ask, am I doing in my lovely oversized house in the suburbs, making car payments, and owning so many things that my husband feels quite strongly that we require even more space?

That's a really good question.

pantry challenge, week 1: reframing

On the first of this month I issued a challenge to my household: we would refrain from buying anything that resides in a package, to clear out pantry clutter.  On the very next day, I found myself at the farmer's market and looking at my beaming husband, who was proudly showing me the local artisan dry pasta he'd just bought.

Well, damn.  

But instead of admitting defeat, I shall simply change the rules.  My blog, my rules.  New rule: 

• Anything purchased at the farmer's market or CSA is fair game.  Even if it's in a box. 

There.  I feel better now.  

On another note, remember how I wanted to avoid supermarkets this month?  Yup, that one fell by the wayside, too. I have a pesky orange juice addiction, so I found myself scampering into the local megamart while out running errands.  But I only bought juice, so it's not too bad.  And it's at least a pseudo-fresh food, so it's close enough to fitting in the approved list for this challenge.  Oh, what I wouldn't give to live in a place where citrus could grow again, and to be able to procure actually fresh OJ.  But such is very much not the case out here in the desert.  

It's time to adjust expectations.  But then, that's kind of the point; this is an experiment.  Sure, there are rules, but I made them, and I can change them.  As long as we come out ahead in at least some of the fundamental goals of the challenge, I count it a win.  Other than that, it's an exercise in self-observation, much like my spending tracking project (more on that later).  

This week, we've used up: 

• freezer: lamb chops, 2 lbs. ground lamb, a lonely frozen half banana, an entire jug of homemade stock*, and some random frozen mixed veggies
• pantry: the last of the chocolate chips**

food budget tracker: this week

farmer's market: $62.50

CSA: $52.96

grocery: $7.18

total: $122.64 

* We habitually save the end bits of veggies and meat bones in the freezer and then make stock in the crock pot.  Homemade stock is delicious, and this way it's free too.  Unfortunately we have a pesky tendency to make the stock, fill old orange juice jugs with it, toss them in the chest freezer, and forget about them forever.  There are like three jugs still in there, plus several gallon-sized plastic bags of the stuff to make even more with.  It's kind of ridiculous.  Actually using it is a major win.  

** The Guy went to Costco the other day, and came home with a replacement bag of chocolate chips, claiming that it was because he had planned on making his famous chocolate torte for his coworkers.  This highlighted the fact that we've had insufficient communication about this endeavor, as the point of the challenge is to see how creative we can get at coping with not replacing staples.  Plans will need to be modified if we're out of something.  That's what makes it a challenge!  But the chips are purchased, and the torte will be made.  Learn from it and move on.  This doesn't get a rule adjustment; it's just a learning experience.  

a challenge

Good food is one of life's great pleasures.  Unfortunately, food procurement can get out of control, and completely take over the available storage space.  Our various pantry cabinets are overflowing, and I've no idea what might lurk at the back of the shelves.  Consequently, I might be re-purchasing things we already own!  Food that's not known about and/or impossible to access serves no real purpose.  Money was spent on it, but it doesn't go on to fulfill its nutritious or tasty purpose.  

The chest freezer, likewise, always seems to be full to the brim, and it's generally a challenge to fit anything new in there.  

Last year we tried organizing everything and making inventory lists.  However, we weren't too good about updating the lists when something was used up or purchased, so they quickly became out of date and the system proceeded to assume its previous cluttery low-energy state.  It was a good try, but now it's time for a new plan.  

Besides, organizing isn't the point.  Minimalism is the end of organizing, and if we can have a less excessive quantity of food around, I suspect that we'll be able to find what we're looking for, not re-purchase things we already have, and even have more space to work in in our not-too-huge kitchen.  These are all very good things.  Perhaps it'll even force us to be more creative and come up with some new meal ideas.  

New perspective, new goals, new mission. 

So, for the month of June, we're instituting a pantry challenge.  For one month we will not buy anything that sits on a shelf or goes in the freezer.  

What we are allowed to buy: 

• fresh veggies & fruit
• dairy (milk, eggs, cheese, etc.)
• pet food

That's it.  Other than that, we'll have to scrounge through the packed cabinets and freezer when it's time to determine the contents of a given repast.  This should lead to some significant creativity toward the end of the month!

In terms of shopping locales, I have a strong preference toward buying everything we can at the farmer's market and local organic CSA.  It would be a fabulous bonus if we managed to not set foot in a traditional supermarket for the course of the experiment.  We'll see how that goes, but with it being summer it should be quite feasible.  

My goals for the month: 

• use up the majority of the forgotten food
• temporarily reduce the grocery budget
• create more space in the kitchen
• gain a better awareness of what we have

Some 'before' pictures of the excessive food stockpile: 

the pantry

See the papers taped to the inside of the pantry doors?  Yeah, those are the year-old, grossly-out-of-date inventory lists.  It was a good idea, but the evidence of failed organization missions does have a way of coming back to haunt one.

stuff-that-doesn't-fit-in-the-pantry

This is the cabinet above the stove.  It contains what doesn't fit in the reasonably-sized pantry area.  It's mostly pasta and packaged things.  It's kind of silly that this overflow space is necessary.

indoor freezer

I reorganized the indoor freezer recently, so it's not as packed as it usually is.  However, 'organizing' in this case is code for 'shoved more things into the garage freezer so there's space indoors.'

garage freezer: full to the brim

It takes some mad 3D tetris skills to locate, extract, or replace anything in the garage freezer.  I call looking for things in there 'spelunking,' and generally wear winter gloves for it because I know I'll be removing everything from the darn thing in order to find whatever I'm looking for.

garage freezer: perspective

The freezer is rather tall.  That's a lot of space that's packed very efficiently with... stuff.

Here goes!