A Good De-Kludging Sets Things Straight

“Oh, I see you have a lot of homeless paper.”

It didn’t look so bad to me. Much of the mail was still neatly tucked inside its envelopes; at least these homeless had little sleeping bags. And the desk really wasn’t all that messy, not by my standards. Not long ago, at my old desk, the newspapers, press releases, reader mail, company propaganda and Styrofoam to-go containers had grown to monumental proportions, teetering with the smallest of aftershocks.

Too bad a “before” photo wasn’t taken.

As I write these words, there’s no point in taking an “after” picture either, though we do have a photo of the work in progress. Many hours of work loom ahead before I’ll be able to say, with any lasting certainty, that Cyndi Seidler, professional organizer, helped me bring order to chaos.

Seidler, a 44-year-old Los Angeles native who lives in Kagel Canyon, is a former “career temp” who two years ago set out on a career as a professional organizer. So far, so good. Just recently, “Access Hollywood” called her “organizer to the stars,” showing how Seidler, at $50 an hour, is making the stuff of comic Sinbad’s life more manageable.

When I called the other day, I wasn’t aware of any celebrity cachet. I just remembered her as the would-be founder of De-Kludge Day.

What happened was this: For arcane reasons I don’t care to understand, the bosses needed me out of my old landfill and into newly vacant “work station” near the west window. This would be no small feat.

Some people believe in a place for everything, and everything in its place.

My filing system might be summed up as: Everything, everywhere. Or perhaps anything, anywhere.

Lucky for me, I was out of town when the editors needed my old desk pronto. This meant the task of moving everything, everywhere fell to a nice worker bee who deserved better, even though she had certain people tittering over the Marine Corps Barbie she found in a bottom drawer. (As if it’s anybody’s business but my own.) Anyway, the change of desks seemed a fine opportunity to once again try to fulfill my annual New Year’s resolution of becoming organized.

I was going to do it all by myself, too.

But then, after a few hours of throwing away 13-year-old files and 3-year-old lunch coupons, I stumbled upon a press release dated Oct. 2, 1995. “Getting It Together on De-Kludge Day,” this said.

I wasn’t looking for it, but considering my filing system, I wasn’t surprised to find it.

This had been Cyndi Seidler’s original attempt to hype her company, HandyGirl Organizing Services. Kludge, as I understand it, is a combination of clutter and sludge. Declaring a De-Kludge Day, Seidler suggested, “might motivate people in taking steps to get organized.”

So I called Seidler and requested a little consultation. What better way to research this story, I figured, than to hire her? (We’ll see if it flies on the expense report.)

“It’s not painful,” Seidler assured me. “Everybody thinks it’s going to be painful before they start.”

On the appointed morning, Seidler, an energetic freckled redhead, arrived in blue jeans and quickly set to stacking my loose papers, creating a filing system, labeling folders. (How the salt and pepper shakers ended up in the pile, I don’t know.) She gave me a quick Microsoft Windows lesson to assemble a telephone directory. She gave me a pile of mail to sort through and decide what should be dumped and what should be filed.

“You’ve got to learn how to throw envelopes away,” she told me.

Reluctantly I removed the homeless from their sleeping bags. In my everything, everywhere system, these envelopes had served as little landmarks that helped me on my expeditions.

Understand, it’s not as though I’ve never had files and folders. In fact, I’ve always had a few. When I started columnizing four years ago, I thought it was a fine time to start anew. The Queen for a Day file was assembled for a column about a club of winners from that unforgettable game show. Thanks to Seidler--not to mention the alphabet--my Queen folder can now be found after one marked Palgate. After Gay Families comes Gun Lobby.

Seidler was enthusiastic about her work. She kept giving me little pep talks as we worked, insisting that it’s simple to simplify.

I’m not entirely convinced about that. But it seemed we got off to a good start.

When we sat down for the interview, I was hoping Seidler would dish up some juicy details about celebrities. She must see some interesting stuff.

Seidler proved too much of a pro to name names and tell tales. Seidler says if she spots a love letter, she’ll just ask, “How do you want this filed?” Trust is implicit. Another time she alerted a client to bundles of $20 bills; he’d forgotten about the money.

I had never met a professional organizer before. Corporate cutbacks have helped the field grow, Seidler says, because both short-handed firms and home-based start-ups often need organizational help. Seidler says the National Assn. of Professional Organizers has more than 80 members in Los Angeles (including her), and several hundred across the nation.

This organizer seems to have her affairs in order. She publishes a newsletter, has her own Web page (https://iypn.com/getorganized) and has a half-hour cable TV program called “Organized Living” in the works. Seidler, a co-host, says she expects the first episodes to air on cable within two months.

She talks about all this with the zeal she brought to finding new homes for my loose papers. This is, she says, a trait common in her calling.

“All of us organizers--and I have not found this in any other trade--we love what we do,” she said. “I mean, we love it! I’m proud to be a professional organizer!”

It’s always nice to meet someone who has found her purpose in life.

As for me, I still have plenty of de-kludging to do.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311, or via e-mail at [email protected] Please include a phone number.