Sure, I'll get organized - but where did I put my calendar?

The Boston Herald

Beverly Beckham

It's here somewhere, I know it. I put it in a safe place on my desk. In the letters to be answered pile? In the pocket of my daily planner? In my notebook?

No, it's in none of these places.

Then it has to be on that plastic file thing mixed in with old faxes and the photo of my friend Anne with her grandchildren, and my Roald Dahl diary, which a young friend gave me last Christmas.

But it isn't there either. I check my important papers file, find my jury duty notice, thank goodness - I had completely forgotten about that - rifle through the lucite stereo cover in which I store the bills (should look at these soon); dump my briefcase on the floor and discover my good luck pen and an address I thought I'd lost; but still can't find the paper I need now.

This is nothing unusual. What is, is when I find what I'm looking for. "If you put things back where they belong ...," my father always scolds. "If you took a little more time in the beginning, it would save you time in the long run," my mother-in-law always adds.

I called her last week to ask if she happened to have a copy of the deed to her old house. This woman, who will turn 82 in four days, didn't hesitate. Before I could form my next sentence, she walked across the room, opened a drawer and put her hand on the deed to a house she bought 35 years ago.

My father's the same way. Mr. A-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its place. How organized is he? He has his screwdrivers arranged by size. He hangs up his rakes. His shed is cleaner than my kitchen. The man is so meticulous he keeps a journal in which he writes what time he gets up, what time he goes to bed, what he ate, what he did, and what the weather was like that day.

I, on the other hand, can't find a press release that arrived a week ago. This apple is not even in the same orchard as that tree.

The press release was about getting organized. This week is National Get Organized Week, you see, the idea being that when you're organized you spend less time running around in circles looking for things, which gives you more time to relax and enjoy life.

In theory, this is great. But there are a few major glitches. Where exactly does a person find the time to get organized? This weekend? Before church, after the christening, between cleaning and shopping and doing the laundry and cutting the grass? And, if given the time, say a year off from all other duties, where would a person begin?

I have lived in the same house for 25 years. I have 25 years worth of school papers, Halloween costumes, Easter baskets, snowsuits, you're-the-best-mother-in-the-world cards, magazines, luggage, ice skates, baseball cards and dancing shoes. And this is just in one corner of one room.

I stand a better chance of seeing the Virgin Mary appear in my back yard than ever glimpsing the cellar floor.

I once watched a professional organizer at work. It was a cross between hanging around with my father and spying on a saint. She swept into an office that was even worse than mine and turned it into a room full of neat piles.

Pile, file, then throw away. When was the last time you used this? Do you think you'll ever use it again? Did you even miss it? No? Then get rid of it.

It's so simple to be organized, she said.

It's so simple to be organized, my father says.

He gave me boxes full of old slides about a month ago. On each, in his neat handwriting, were the names of the people in the slides and the dates the photos were taken.

He couldn't have given me a better gift.

But years ago, he threw my wedding gown away.

"Why did you do that, Dad?" I screamed at him. "How could you have!"

"It was old. It was falling apart. Were you ever going to wear it again? Of course not."

The National Association of Professional Organizers (Yes, there is such a group) should contact this man. There's no arguing with logic like this