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There is one area of my house that seems to repel clutter. I consider it my “safe room.” Some people have safe rooms for security, I have a safe room for sanity. It is where I retreat to when I can’t stand the sight of another pile, another discarded piece of clothing, abandoned toy or wayward shoe.
My safe room, technically, is not a room at all. It’s merely a passage way to other areas of the house. There is no chair for me to sit when I escape there. No door to shut to keep others out. I just stand there on the small area rug covering the hardwood floor absorbing its resistance to family chaos.
This beautiful piece of unmolested feng shui is my entry way. It is miraculously devoid of anything (excluding dust and dog hair dust bunnies) that shouldn’t be there, and for this I love it.
There’s not much to it - a bubble gum machine in the corner and the two small tables adorned with pictures and knickknacks representing...
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