After 'I Do,' a Time for Separation From Too Much Stuff

Books are cluttered everywhere. Shoved into bookcases, stacked on the bedside table, balanced on the pile of stuff covering my desk.

"Can we get rid of some of these?" my husband asks.

"I'm a writer," I say. "Writers read."

He picks up "Possessory Estates and Future Interests," an old book from law school. So what if no one in his right mind would want to borrow it. Ever. So what if I'm no longer practicing law.

My husband sighs. I sigh.

Technically our little quarrel isn't about my books. It's about his receipts. This morning I found one for taco shells -- dated 1992. Actually, it's not about books or receipts. It's about newlyweds learning how to mesh two lives. It's about learning how a book hoarder and a receipt hoarder make room for each other under one roof. It's about explaining why this marriage calls for keeping my red vacuum cleaner over his green one. Because what we're really trying to do today is organize our living space.

You would think that with 35 years of education between the two of us, we could figure this out on our own. But, no, we have to hire the Space Case, a professional organizer. She shows up Saturday morning with a clipboard and one hell of an agenda.

She wants us to go through every item in the apartment. Piece by piece. Every kitchen utensil, every bottle, every pillow, Christmas ornament and paper clip.

Sounds crazy to me, but it turns out the Space Case is brilliant. Inkless pens are dumped in the trash, ugly wedding gifts are given away, files that have been gathering dust on the floor are brushed off and stored in -- drumroll, please -- our filing cabinets.

Pretty soon we've found a rhythm. Ron's in the bedroom, I'm in the living room, and last time I saw the Space Case she was scribbling on her pad.

"How're you doing?" she calls down the hallway.

I'm holding two copies of "The Great Gatsby," one from my high school days and one from Ron's.