Henrietta Hay's Column

January: the time of high-sounding resolutions and crummy weather! Therefore be it resolved that, since I'll be indoors most of the time anyway, I will start to de-clutter my life, or more specifically my desk. Making New Year's resolutions has a very long history. Janus, the Roman God who had two faces and could simultaneously look back at past events and forward toward the future is credited with starting the custom.

My friend the philosopher has been trying to convince me that I will be a happier person if I will just de-clutter my life or, to put it in stronger terms, get rid of some of the junk. Actually, she said that I wouldn't complain so much about not having enough time if I didn't spend so much time hunting stuff. She is, of course, absolutely right.

But it's tough for people of my generation. We grew up during what we fondly call the Great Depression and there was no such thing as clutter. Everything got saved and used. The motto was, "Use it up, make it do, or do without." For a depression kid, de-cluttering is emotionally traumatic. How's that for rationalization?

My home office is a major problem. Desktops are ticking bombs. I have studied office desks of professional people, and they run the gamut. There are some people whose desks are so sterile that a pen seems like clutter, and there are others whose desks need penicillin. Either way, the owners seem to function quite efficiently. I am somewhere in between.

The late Erma Bombeck claimed, several years ago, to be the winner of the Most Disorganized Home Office contest. She claimed that it takes a superior mind to work at a cluttered desk. Thanks, Erma.

My desk is not exactly cluttered, but I did count 12 objects, including the telephone, two overflowing "In" trays, a day book, the new "Women's Outrageous Quotes" calendar and three paperweights that my kids have sent me, including a piece of the rail of the old Fruita railway,

The loose pieces of paper in those "In" baskets are the major problem. You will notice I don't have an "Out" basket. The rule of thumb -- other people's thumbs -- is to handle every piece of paper that comes into the house only once. But hey, who can do that?

The pile consists of letters to be answered eventually (on paper, not on the computer screen), appeals for money that require a decision, ads for stuff I might possibly want some day, newspaper clippings waiting to be indexed and other oddly assorted minutiae. It no longer contains current bills since one disappeared in the pile for a couple of months recently and I got a nasty note. The pile doesn't seem to be changing in size, and I think I am about ready to challenge Erma.

My computer table is a different story -- or picture. During the writing of each column the stack of clippings and notes and printouts grows algebraically. As I tear my hair and paw through the mess I mutter, "I know I wrote that down somewhere, and where is: 1. The article I need; 2. That particular quote; 3. Web printout; 4. All of the above?" I can only assume that those little green men are hovering, waiting to grab everything I put down and replacing it with something else. The pile is still as big as ever.

In the past couple of years a new source of clutter has made its appearance - computer files. Anyone starting now, with the excellent software available, is probably setting up information files that can be easily accessed. But when I began struggling with that newfangled machine called a personal computer, ten years or so ago, you sort of made up the filing system as you went along. That means that stuff I filed then is hard to find today, takes up a lot of space and qualifies as computer clutter. I don't dare throw anything away, though. What if I sent something really earth shaking to that computer trash bin in the sky?

Well, only two (or three depending on who you believe) years until the millennium. Surely by then I can at least clean my desk.