Read The Tao of Martha for Free Online Page A

storage, you need only three things: sturdy shelves, clear plastic bins, and a label maker.
    Yet I did struggle with the notion of tossing out all my pretty shoe boxes with their fancy designer labels, largely because I’m shallow. How will the strangers who walk into my closet learn that I own Tory Burch sandals if I don’t display her box?
    I know, I know . Crazytown.
    What finally convinced me to change is that shoe boxes aren’t consistently sized and I don’t have X-ray vision. Now I can actually see my shoes and they’re in tidy stacks. Right before I hit the closet, I made anote that I needed a casual black shoe with a kitten heel, yet as I dumped out all the old boxes, I found exactly what I needed and end up saving four times the amount I paid for storage boxes. Perhaps I could get used to this.
    During the closet reorg, I uncover tons of items I no longer wear (read: are too tight), and I’m able to make a nice donation to AMVETS.
    Did this cleanup change the world? No.
    Did it make it quicker for me to dress in the morning? Yes.
    Will what I’ve given away benefit others? It will.
    So not only does this progress make my life a tiny bit easier, but it spurs me on to tackle other projects.
    For some reason, whoever built this house hated medicine cabinets, as evidenced by our having none. I find this deeply, profoundly annoying. For the first two months we lived here, I’d walk into the bathroom all, “Where did they keep their aspirin?”
    I finally figure out that they must have stored all their toiletries in the weird little enclosure off the master bedroom. Although this closet is as tall as the door in front of it, it’s only about nine inches deep, so it’s filled with shelves. Frankly, I don’t understand why anyone would bother with such a stupid space, but it’s on the other side of the shower, so maybe it’s for easier access to the pipes? (I’d have asked the old owners, but their attorney handled the closing, which was kind of a bummer. I’d have liked to know more about the gun cabinet, too.)
    Anyway, I discover that this little closet is the perfect place to store all my hair-care products, of which there are many.
    Many, many.
    I’m perpetually buying whatever my stylist pushes on me, yet I’m also perpetually dissatisfied by whoever’s cutting my hair, so I’m always switching salons. In turn, this cycle has produced quite the cache of antifrizz items.

    Actually, the minicloset is a great place to shove all assorted bits of personal detritus, and now a whole Sephora spills out every time I open the door.
    Because there’s no rhyme or reason to how I’ve been stashing items, I’m always making duplicate purchases.
    That ends today.
    I decide to pick up cute cloth-covered bins at Target in lieu of the clear plastic boxes, because I don’t need lids for this stuff, and I don’t necessarily want to see every single item in here. Actually, I believe the closet will look neater if some of the bottles are obscured, and there’s no reason to ignore aesthetics. I’m confident that Martha would approve of this logic.
    The closet’s crammed with a million different things, so I lay them all out plane-wreck style to assess. Maisy decides to join me in my endeavor, plowing like Godzilla through all the bottles before settling on top of the mountain of pillows on the bed. I give her a quick snuggle and then get back to work. Once I right everything, Libby comes trotting in, upsetting it all again. Realizing that Loki and Gus, Chuck Norris, and Odin (aka the Thundercats) could come through at any minute keeps me from any further tidying efforts. I can right or I can sort; I choose to sort.
    I decide to narrate the experience for the dogs.
    “Welcome to the Jen Lancaster Show! Today I’m going to demonstrate how to tackle a messy nonmedicine medicine cabinet. As you’ll see, I’ve removed all the items from the closet and laid them out on the floor. This looks like a plane wreck, but