For the past six months, I’ve pulled into the garage and groaned. It’s not that I dreaded coming home. I just hated looking at the motley crew of cardboard boxes, plastic bags and “mystery” items I’d offloaded to make room in the car trunk for luggage. I hate to walk by the scruffy collection every time I went out to the car.

The groaning ended on sunny yesterday when I became obsessed with spring cleaning. Following the advice of a professional organizer, I decided to start small. A three-foot area was what she recommended. An organizer with a heart.

Thirty-five minutes later, I’d found my favorite gym clothes (please don’t ask how I hadn’t missed them), the bungee cords I thought I’d left in a Craig’s List seller’s garage, a CD with all the pictures of my 2009 trip to Israel, and a lovely recycling basket , just like the one I was about to go out and buy for my office. That was in addition to all the eyeglasses that had been worn by any family member since 1991, which I had intended to deliver – and finally did on Saturday – to a donation box at the eyeglass store.

Now when I pull in, I can’t wait to look over at the three-foot section of wall to the right that currently houses only a gallon of windshield wiper fuel and a trashcan (currently emptied). Hopefully, as I admire this handiwork, I won’t plow into the red painted dresser straight ahead that’s populated with the paint cans I still have to dispose of. The dresser’s about three feet wide. Maybe next weekend.