From The Editor

The minute I hung up the phone, I broke out in hives. One hive, actually, right on my face, which was already bright red with shame and embarrassment. How could I have forgotten an important appointment—again? This was the third time in as many months that I had completely overlooked an event, and this was by far the worst: I’d been invited, along with the publisher of the Herald-Tribune and another major media peer, as a special guest at an intimate luncheon for a not-for-profit.

I looked around my office—no wonder I had forgotten to show up! I was living in a total mess. My desk was practically seething with papers, magazines, coffee cups, the empty salad container from my hurried lunch and personal mementos, from photographs and Michigan rocks to a little wrought-iron pink flamingo. The bookshelves didn’t look any better, crammed with unread books sent by publicists, old magazines, and boxes full of ancient resumes, contest entries and stuff I’d stored here during my recent home renovation.

On the other side of the room, senior editor Bob Plunket’s desk was also piled high. Some of his papers had even migrated to our little conference table, which was also the site of our new favorite possession: a 1970s vintage plastic yellow-and-orange dollhouse, made in Japan and equipped with everything from period hi-fi and speakers to a mid-century modern red sectional sofa.

 “I think I’ve just reached bottom,” I told Bob. “I’m calling a professional organizer.”

 “Fine,” he said. “Just keep her away from my desk—and the dollhouse.”

 Two days later, Cynthia Warner walked into our office. A cheery blond women with the efficiency of a top legal secretary and the tact of a diplomat’s wife—both of which she was, before she moved to Sarasota and started her Better Organized business—Cynthia scanned the room. Her eyes lingered on the bulletin board above my desk, which was crowded with years of pictures our party photographer has taken of me and George at various social events. Then she saw the little house.

“Is that—a dollhouse?” she asked.

“Yes—and it’s staying,” Bob said.

I’d bought the dollhouse as a jokey gift for Bob, who is fascinated with homes and design and recently created a designer as the main character in his new mystery series, “Decorating Can Be Murder,” which we’re serializing in the magazine. But all of us had soon succumbed to its enchantment. The day I’d brought the dollhouse in, the production manager had come in to discuss an impending printing crisis; after 10 fruitless minutes of trying to figure out what to do, she and I looked at each other, closed the door and began happily unpacking all the miniature furniture and arranging it in the house. Bob and I had found it equally therapeutic; we were even considering inviting designers we feature in the magazine to take their turn at decorating it.

“Well, of course it can stay,” Cynthia said soothingly. “I’m sure we can work around it.” Bob appeased, she turned to me.

 “I certainly feel comfortable in this space,” she said gently. “But it isn’t really representative of who you are. Your magazine is so sophisticated and professional, and I see you and your office in the same way.”

That comforting, non-judgmental attitude, I was to learn, is the hallmark of a successful professional organizer, who must win her clients’ trust and help them relax their defenses. “I’m never confrontational,” she explained. “I’m here to help.”

Those she helps range from executives who hire her on an ongoing basis to housewives who want their entire homes reorganized. Cynthia shows ADD teens how to focus on schoolwork and “seasonizes” some of Sarasota’s most stylish closets. She was recently asked to unpack and set up the entire apartment—in a single day—for a major international executive and his wife who were moving into the Ritz-Carlton, Sarasota.