Sometimes I think I should become a minimalist. (Not the kind of minimalist that lives in a 10 foot square box in someone else’s back yard and has only one chair (for him or herself) and thus has no room to have anyone over for dinner. Not that kind of minimalist. But the kind of minimalist who knows the exact location of every fork and pencil and mismatched sock, and doesn’t have boxes and piles of anything useless just laying around. Or maybe that’s just being organized.) Then I think, “Why would I want to do that…become a minimalist, I mean?” I like my stuff. Sometimes having extras of things that seem useless comes in handy.  Like when the in-laws come to visit and you actually have enough towels without having to dash out to Tar-jay and purchase cheap towels at 11 o’clock the night before they arrive. Granted, they… [Read More]