Free Charting the Unknown by Kim Petersen

booth. If all went well, the event would be over by 4 p.m., whereupon I would race home to make supper. Re-dress for about the 4 th time. Inform the babysitter of rules and regs. Hold Mike's hand as we left for a dinner party. Stay later than anticipated. Maybe kiss Mike goodnight. Maybe not. Fall into bed.
    Every day was a repeat performance of rotating events. To combat it, Mike and I dusted off the porch swing, sat down, and held hands, but the extent of our conversations centered around where to have dinner, what chores needed to be accomplished on the weekend, and who was picking up what kid at which club. Our relationship entered survival mode. Instead of feeling like we were lost together, I began to feel lost and alone. We discussed this. Mike felt it too. We blamed it on the busy stage of life and planned a date night to combat it, but at the last minute we had to cancel it due to an impromptu business meeting for Mike.
    In the southwestern United States there is a rest area off Hwy 160 called Four Corners. It is the only place in the US where you can technically place an appendage in four different states at one time. An arm in Colorado, one in New Mexico, a leg in Arizona, and, now looking like you are doing the bear walk in a childhood relay race, a leg in Utah. In this spot, you are in the magical world of in between marked first back in 1868 by E.N. Darling. In 1992 a more permanent granite marker was placed, a tribute to our cultures interest in the novelty of being several places at once; pieces of the body in four states but not fully existing anywhere.
    In the middle of a four corners day in May, I met a friend for coffee. While sipping lattes she declared with some satisfaction that she was “simplifying” her life. She had spent the morning going through all her cupboards and closets, getting rid of junk and organizing.
    â€œToo much clutter creates stress…when in doubt, throw it out,” she said with conviction.
    Simplifying, I thought. What a novel idea. I could use some simplicity. I was inspired. Back at home, I put on old clothes, tied my hair back with a pink scarf and decided to tackle the basement. ‘Go big, or go home,’ I thought as I descended the stairs.
    In an unfinished storage room we had boxes as old as the pyramids. I was Indiana Jones in the Well of Souls blowing away years of dust. I was curious as any good archaeologist should be. I cut open the tape on a box whose contents were vaguely identified with faded black magic marker, opened the flaps and found old maternity clothes. I divided the room into two sections: stuff to keep and stuff to give away. I placed the maternity clothes in the “give away” section. There were a couple boxes of toys the kids played with when they were younger and they followed. Several mundane boxes later, I found a stash of old yearbooks. While reading through one, the kids came home from school and wondered where I was. I yelled up to them that I was downstairs cleaning the basement.
    â€œWhat are you doing that for?” Lauren wondered aloud at the top of the stairs.
    â€œI am simplifying,” I announced.
    â€œOhhh kaaaay,” she said, and in my mind I saw her shrug her shoulders at her brother.
    Seeking to place as much distance from themselves and such a task, they told me they were going down the street to play with friends, which was just as well because “Simplifying is hard work and I don't need any distractions!” I yelled up.
    Sensing an opportunity, Lauren said, “Maybe we should order pizza tonight since you've been working so hard?”
    â€œGreat idea,” I said. If Indiana Jones got the Ark of the Covenant, I should at least get a pizza.
    As they left I heard Stefan say, “Whoohooo, pizza for dinner! Hey, Mom, you should clean the basement more often.”
    By early evening, the side of the room stacked with things to give away was decidedly smaller than anticipated, but I