Life of Wry

If it’s Thursday it must be Purgeday. Today’s conquest: I went through seven (of eight) large baskets stuffed to the gills with paperwork that needed some kind of attention… filing or tossing or, in the case of quite a bit of unopened mail, opening! 

Some of those baskets have been sitting on the shelves in my office for years.

It usually works like this: mail, bills, expired memberships notices, receipts, to do lists, travel items (like brochures and maps), birthday cards, etc., begin to collect on my desk (it’s a good thing it’s a huge desk). They turn into piles and the piles begin to multiply until I can’t stand it anymore, at which point I hunt down a nice, large basket (baskets are so friendly and non-threatening). I sweep all the piles into the basket, slap a “to file” label on it and put it on a shelf. Then I have a spacious, clean desk and a renewed commitment to address each incoming immediately. This lasts a little while. It’s a happy time. Six or twelve months later, I’m searching for another basket. I intend to deal with the baskets’ content, but just never do.

The shelves of which I speak: a huge industrial grade metal unit (6 shelves, 4′ wide) that I picked up from the UC Davis bargain barn (for $100) about five years ago because I needed a place to store the overwhelming accumulation of vessels awaiting some kind of attention…. the aforementioned baskets as well as numerous [exciting] projects.

Anyway.. Jim helped me carry those eight baskets into the laundry/pantry/project room this afternoon where I could spread way out and get to work culling. I got rid of so many unopened solicitations, catalogs, voter pamphlets, and just endless easy-to-toss things. (I filled the paper recycle bin twice!) I sorted the rest into health, travel, political, cards and letters, and business-y things (all to be further culled later). AND I unearthed a trove of really fun stuff… like a flyer from Peter’s first junior high dance, a copy of the [incredibly beautiful] letter I wrote to him when he graduated from college (during the pandemic), a detailed journal of every cold and rash Peter got from birth to about age 5, which includes my early breastfeeding travails, some uncashed checks, some gift cards, countless memorial service programs (including my mom’s and Jim’s dad’s). I mean, fantastic, right?

I quite enjoyed myself. It gets harder from here with all the additional culling. But that’s what future Purgedays are for.