Spring cleaning

Spring cleaning. Decluttering. Call it what you will, it’s not much fun. Or is it?

I thought I would dive into a filing cabinet and ruthlessly weed out old pieces of writing and so on. Top drawer. Full of genealogy info gathered by my parents and by me. Incomplete, in a mess, notes and photos from both sides crying out to be organised. No. I’m here to declutter, not divert into family history just now. Put that back.

Writing projects polished to present at a writer’s conference. Notes from said conference. Those dreams have not yet died. Put those back.

Next drawer. Photos, negatives, mingling old b&w prints with newer ones. Need sorting, not throwing out. Unprepared for the dozens of short stories, articles, sketches, pieces of writing I have done over the years – starting with my first ‘book’ written age 8. 

An essay on Soviet foreign policy written for a university course. Professor Schwarz graded it highly and gave me effusive praise. And yet, my memory of him was the time he mortified me by suggesting I couldn’t think on my feet. Maybe he wasn’t totally evil after all.

How to determine what really warrants keeping in life? Clues to personality, glimpses of relationships and snatches of thought-processes ... or shelves of books written by others, cupboards of nick-nacks gathered by others, closets of clothing manufactured by others? 

Think I’ll be a little more self-indulgent and then close those drawers. I don’t want to waste time wallowing (or cringing) in the past, but to throw some of that stuff out would feel like amputating part of who I am. 

The Bible tells us God has loved us with an everlasting love, and it’s amazing to trace his finger of love through the pictures and words of the past. And to marvel that in spite of all the purple prose, he still loves me.