24/4/97
The
organization
bug
In Rivka Ester Rothstein's perfect
world,
everything
has
a
place
-
and
the
best
place
for
The
Jerusalem
Post
is
the
garbage
dump.
Rothstein is a professional - and by her own admission, compulsive
-
organizer.
“Let's talk about your mess,” she'll say, workmanlike but
with
a
throaty
laugh,
loosening
up
a
client's
penchant
for
embarrassment.
One of her biggest bugbears: stacks of stale news. “A lot
of
people
have
an
issue
about
saving
newspapers.
I
told
one
woman
that
everything
she
needed
was
on
CD-ROM,
so
she
agreed
to
part
with
the
papers.
That's
one
of
my
favorite
things,
throwing
old
Jerusalem
Posts
in
the
trash.”
I am not offended, I assure her.
“Another woman had Martha Meisels columns from 1979 on buying
fridges.
She
insisted:
'What
if
I
want
to
buy
a
fridge
at
some
point?'
But
lady,
I
said,
they
don't
make
'em
anymore!”
You can just imagine how a person like this found a calling
like
that.
“I
had
a
roommate.
After
living
with
me
for
a
while”
--
Rothstein
rolls
her
eyes
in
genial
self-deprecation
–
“she
said,
'Rivka
Ester,
you
should
do
this
for
a
living.’
''
She can't help herself: when she steps into someone's home,
she
gets
the
itch
to
rearrange.
“I'll
say:
'Gee,
I
hope
you
don't
mind
me
saying
this,
but
what
if
you
threw
this
stuff
out
and
put
that
here,
and
this
there,
you'd
solve
a
problem
you
probably
don't
even
know
you
have.'
”
Scary, isn't it: I mean, imagine being married to a compulsive
organizer.
Ah,
but
there
is
a
catch:
she's
not
neurotic,
and
she's
good-humored
about
it
all.
Rothstein, 42, likes her husband Yehuda's shirts neatly arranged:
“Long-sleeved
whites,
then
blues,
then
yellows,
then
the
short-sleeved
whites
and
blues
and
yellows.”
Frankly,
he
could
do
without
it.
On
the
other
hand,
she
didn't
harangue
him
when
he
left
a
pile
of
cough-drop
wrappers
by
his
bedside
for
a
few
months.
Obviously,
they've
only
been
married
a
short
time
(a
year-and-a-half).
“One of my character defects -- and my husband will vouch
for
this
--
is
my
penchant
for
asserting
control.
But
what
I’ve
done
is
turn
my
defect
into
a
profession.
I
actually
get
paid
for
telling
people
how
to
live
their
lives,
and
if
they
listen
or
not,
I
go
home
happy.”
She says she's not obsessed; just, um, a bit tidy. She sees
obsession
in
some
of
her
clients,
and
often
finds
good
use
for
her
background
in
counseling.
Sometimes, though, there's nothing she can do.
“One family, very well-to-do, had a built-in closet for each
of
the
children.
And
each
had
a
drawer
only
for
the
pajamas.
I
said
to
the
mother,
how
many
pajamas
do
you
think
they
need?
And
she
says,
'A
dozen?'
I
finally
got
them
down
to
six
pairs
each.
I
went
back
the
next
week,
and
each
child
had
four
more
pairs
of
brand-new
pajamas.”
You have to wonder about some people.
“I was hired by a woman who wanted me for her husband. I
did
a
great
job
with
him,
we
threw
away
probably
85
percent
of
what
was
stacked
there.
And
I
look
around
and
think,
she's
calling
me
because
he's
a
slob?
I
mean,
there
were
vegetables
on
the
TV
table!
“I did work on a kitchen, a woman who actually gave lessons
in
homemaking.
And
I
had
to
tell
her:
'look,
the
fancy
tea
set
you
take
out
once
every
three
years
shouldn't
be
sitting
in
prime
cupboard
space.'
I
mean,
I
had
to
tell
her
this?”
Rothstein's work can get pretty intimate, which for a newly-Orthodox
woman
can
be
a
mite
awkward
sometimes.
“I
once
got
a
call
for
help
from
a
male
friend,
and
found
myself
face
to
face
with
a
drawerful
of
very
weird
underwear.”
THERE
ARE
four
reasons
why
people
hire
an
organizer:
“They're
too
busy,
they
may
not
have
the
knack
or
know-how,
they
may
feel
overwhelmed,
or
they're
too
isolated.”
She's worked for parents “who can't communicate with their
disorganized
teenagers;
I
deal
with
people's
financial
lives,
getting
their
paperwork
in
order.
I
get
calls
from
mothers-in-law
to
go
straighten
out
the
slobs
their
children
married,
but
I
don't
take
that
kind
of
job.
I've
had
sweet
experiences
with
older
people
who
are
getting
ready
to
...
part.
It's
very
tender,
because
they
know
what
they
need
to
do.
“I can work with all of them because I'm not emotionally
attached.”
The ABCs of attacking a mess are simple: “Just do it. Start
somewhere.
Pick
up
the
first
armful
and
you're
on
the
way.”
She'll instruct a client to categorize: “Here, here, here,
here,
or
garbage.”
Do it, she says, and you'll feel good about yourself.
“We like order. Orderliness contributes to tranquillity.
Though
some
people
can't
work
unless
they
have
a
chaotic
environment,
most
people
function
best
when
they
know
where
everything
is.”
As in, honey, where'd ya put the spittoon?
Rothstein has a shot-glass of advice for everything: a little
shelf
here,
plastic
baskets
there.
You
need
so
many
pens
on
your
desk?
A
touchy
subject:
children's
arts-and-crafts
projects;
you
can't
throw
'em
out,
and
you
don't
want
them
cluttering
up
the
house.
“Kids
sometimes
bring
home
these
hideous
things
from
ceramics
class,”
she
says
--
then
notices,
on
the
side
table
in
my
living
room,
my
children's
hideous
things
from
ceramics
class.
“Keep
the
best,
and
take
a
picture
of
the
rest
and
put
it
in
a
scrap
book.
Or
send
some
to
the
grandparents,
they
love
that
kind
of
stuff.”
Israelis like sparsity and are fastidiously tidy -- inside
the
house.
Rothstein
doesn't
even
bother
advertising
in
the
Hebrew
press.
Her
best
customers?
“Anglos.
We're
used
to
more
space
and
more
acquisitions.”
You'll be glad to know Rothstein has a skeleton in her own
closet:
one
disorderly
storage
room
visitors
aren't
allowed
to
see.
She has a long explanation for why this cobbler is shoeless,
but
it
doesn't
change
the
fact
she
has
a
messy
room.
What's
important,
however,
is
that
she's
at
peace
with
it.
Rothstein has a heimishe mix of Bronx bluntness and Jewish
consciousness,
perfect
for
the
professional
organizer.
But
even
when
she's
off-duty,
well,
sometimes
she
just
can't
