I was looking for a four-page document, something I knew I’d seen not long ago. Okay… that could have been last March the way time flies. There are only three places something like this could be, so best to start in the easiest place, the bookcase.
While there, I decided to set aside books that are sliding off the Keeper Shelf (a book has to be worthy of a second read or it’s off the shelf). I’m not going to use The Knitter’s Guide to Entrelac, and I think I’m past needing How to Train Your Puppy. What about an antique hymn book or the poetry book? Hidden under a pile of novels was a complete history of a family long gone to their great reward. On the off-chance the document was in there, I took the time to peruse the entire thing, finding cousins long forgotten. And look, here were two photo albums, happy times, page after page. There were two biographies of old friends that needed a read as well. How about this: Glamour and the Hostess, circa 1940, every woman’s necessity for setting a lovely table for guests? The half-hour turned in an hour-and-a-half, and by then I had a box of books destined for the library sale, a heap of papers I figured “someone might want sometime” (likely never), photo albums, a cute little basket of trinkets, the etiquette guide (definitely a keeper), and no paper going to recycling and no document.
I have a drawer where I file things. Well, I stack things in the drawer with good intentions to actually file them sometime. And here’s where the paper war really begins. Every couple of months I take everything out of the drawer and throw stuff way. Every time I go back, I swear it’s bred in the drawer while I wasn’t looking. There’s always more! There’s one “file” that’s titled “I Wish I’d Said That.” Old comic strips, poems, silly sayings, spill out in no particular order. Then I spend (waste) time reading it, shove it back in, and move on. I need real resolve or a fit of temper to be sensible about all this.
I have a file for manuals. That whole thing went without a nod since most of the items are gone. I had old news articles in triplicate; all tossed. Old floppy disks with no titles, useless dreck; cheque stubs from the stone age, receipts, brochures from places we’re never going to visit, dreadful art I thought I liked, a packet of post cards from the National Gallery. Now, I’m very sure I threw all that away the last time I cleaned out the drawer, but here was more. There were sewing patterns from 40 years ago, marketing pamphlets from our sportswear days, race results from my erstwhile athletic endeavours. They are now “filed” under “get out of my house.”
We have a closet called the history cupboard. It’s four shelves of everything: 60 years of tax returns, maps in rolls, and a milk crate full of handwritten family letters regarding family histories. It was a mistake to open the first one, and a bigger mistake to start reading. Except that I thought the document might be hidden in that crate, I wouldn’t have dug to the bottom and gotten mired in sentiment. After the fourth letter, I had to admit defeat and be ruthless. Who were some of these people? If I didn’t recognize the writing, the letters were weeded out until the crate was less than half full. The cupboard was looking more and more bare, and I was satisfied that I was keeping the paper war at bay for a while.
It’s not like this collection isn’t important. After all, it’s our life I’m culling, but really, who will care in years to come? We collected all this, and I think it’s our responsibility to dispose of it. The history closet is testament that the paper war is not going to abate any time soon. I have to keep my eye on it constantly to prevent it breeding when I’m not looking. Every time I go through stuff more can be discarded, and my aim is to have two bare shelves. However, there are some things with which I cannot easily part, like all these handwritten letters and items like my grandfather’s autobiography.
Yes, I did find it: four pages single-spaced typing, his own story in his own idiom. What did I do with it? I made copies to send to my sister, made copies for our kids, and kept the original. Now, does that make sense? Not really, but maybe sometime someone will want to read it…