.. .and do a good job!
The threatened punishment for outright disobedience or a slap-dash effort was severe and credible.
"Or I won't buy bananas this week. "
(Can nine-year-olds today imagine a time when a banana was a special luxury? Of course not. It would come as a shock even to their parents that once upon a time all the United Fruit Company ships were commandeered by Roosevelt to carry war stuff to Churchill and Stalin. The bananas were left to rot in the jungles, and the supply didn't become dependable until a couple years after the war.)
So I cleaned my room. In the process came joy. Under a big pile of something in the closet I found my almost-new first baseman's glove, a treasure lost weeks before.
That didn't change my casual attitude toward housekeeping, but it implanted a valuable lesson. When you notice you've lost a few important things, start tidying your place.
Like yesterday. I noticed I was missing my Buck 501, a favorite little flashlight, the check book, and the old "Eversharp" pencil which, somehow, seems to improve my spelling. (I do not fully reject either animism or a more generalized magic. That pencil harbors a spirit.)
I recalled the results of Mom's banana threat and set out to act like a normal, responsible adult human being. An hour or so later these things were neat and well-organized: The truck cab. A butt pack, nerdy looking but useful as a go bag. The computer bag. The hard-side brief case. Two drawers. All was found, and as a bonus the Ruger RST4 is back where it belongs, locked in the everyday van in case of an irresistible urge to do a little plinking on my way home from town.
This is the place where a guy should specify the moral of his story, which I suppose is "a place for everything and everything in its place, every hour of every day."
But screw it. Compulsiveness is for nerds who think butt packs look cool.