Purging the Paper

Over a hundred books have moved on to greener pastures this week. I have about two hundred more that are destined to be packed up for Goodwill when I acquire more boxes. Quite a few are earmarked for handing down to other people's children. Three boxes full, with any luck, will sell on Half.com. I'd say the lucky ones that have earned a permanent home here on the homestead number around five hundred. That seems like a lot, but what remains can be comfortably shelved, and these are books that I know will be read or referenced. (This does not take into account kids' books, which will be dealt with as they outgrow them. However, I do think I will utilize the "one in, one out" rule- anytime they buy or receive a new book, one gets put into the donation box.)

There are about two dozen of my father's books that I am having a hard time emotionally letting go of, and I have decided that I will reread them (or, for some, guiltily read for the first time) so that they may have a proper send-off into the world. And these will truly be released into the wild: I plan to register them on Book Crossing so I can monitor their travels. The hope is that my father's notes and cross-references will bring meaning to some other avid reader, some other wandering soul.

Which brings me to today's decluttering/ emotional overhaul crisis:

Like my father before me, I read with a pencil and paper. In an effort to capture those things I find meaningful, useful, or just interesting, I write down quotes, thoughts, and cross-references as I read. Where my father and I differ is that he would generally write in the margins, whereas I cannot bring myself to deface a book. What this means in the long term is that I have piles and piles of paper and notebooks. Whenever my cleaning brings them to my attention, I tend to read them over, and I still find the bulk of it amusing, or touching, or whatever. So back into the box or drawer or book it goes.

Every once in a while I make an effort to sort through all these bits of paper, putting them into binders or files. What that means is I have a lot of binders and files. (There is a file in my file cabinet labelled, in my father's hand, "Papers". I kid you not. This file is specifically quotes from books I read in high school or just random things I wrote down, and they have survived the cleaning out of my childhood bedroom, two moves, and a basement flooding.)

What to do with these fragments? The first step was to locate the two boot-size shoeboxes (bootboxes) that I keep all my high school letters in. Back in the early 90s, there were no "free minutes" or "fave 5", and long-distance ran a dime every sixty seconds, more if you had urgent mid-day gossip to share. To survive those never-ending summers, and avoid the wrath incurred by $150 phone bills, my friends and I resorted to good old pen and paper. And cringeworthy as it may well be, we were damn funny. Over the years I have gone through these letters and discarded those that were boring or from people I don't particularly care for or about anymore. From people still on the "good" list, I kept only the very best of the best. And still: two good size boxes.

We had lots to say. So much, in fact, that I also had to keep the envelopes, as we would often think of things after the letters were sealed, and hastily scrawled them on the outside.

This morning I went through them one last time. I read through maybe three, looked at the pile, and thought, no way. I do not have time to read all these. And into the recycling bag they went.

So easy! So liberating!
Why didn't I do this before?

And now I have two more empty boxes. As I come across the scattered ghosts of books past, I'll toss them into these boxes, and every day I'll post two or three or ten. This plan has multiple benefits:

1. The paper gets slowly thrown away;



2. The thoughts get documented for future use;



3. Perhaps someone else will enjoy them as well;



4. I now feel obliged to log in and daily and write something, anything.



5. These pieces of me will be there for my kids to access, to help shape their understanding of who I am and how I think, without the future burden of having to get rid all these bits of sentimental flotsam.

Today's quote? I believe it was the copy for a Guess jeans ad. I found it emblazoned multiple times on the envelopes. A tribute to the embarassing, but ultimately empowering, aspects of high school memories:

Walk away when you must.

Walk the goddess walk.

( April 5th: I found this quote today in one of my binders. It is
actually from a Calvin Klein ad, 1992. In case you were really, really
wondering.)