March 2. 2015
It was bound to happen.
I’m gleefully tossing old Xeroxes and I find a short story written by my insanely talented son when he was about 16. I remark, I read, I recognize its value is beyond description because not only is it well written, it marks a moment in his growing up that is important to me. Then I set it down and went back to my tossing.
I woke up in the middle of the night, about 3:00 a.m., and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember where I’d put his story. I figured I probably E-mailed it to someone, he probably E-mailed it to me, but in that one crazy moment, I panicked that the only paper copy of his story was I-don’t-know-where. So I took off for the recycling bin in the hall of our building to retrieve my two bags of yesterday’s decluttered paper – just in case.
Then I went back to bed and searched my phone for a copy which I then E-mailed to my son for safekeeping. Phew!
I’ll go through the two bags one more time. The mantra of any professional organizer is this: “You can always throw it away tomorrow.”
Tonight, I went back to my dismantling and filled another shopping bag full of ratty, old Xeroxes of the sheet music I used to sing. And I found some wonderful autographs. For a very short time in my life, I thought I wanted to be an autograph hound, but it really didn’t suit me and I never knew why I had bothered people.
I also found a 1978 subway map – by Michael Cascagno – and it’s a treasure.
More tomorrow!
The Backpack Press 