Well, I did eventually find them.
But not before I found a large box and an overflowing bag of "stuff" -- finance stuff. Commercial real estate structured finance stuff, to be exact. Research and deal summaries and statistics and theories I had accumulated over a career in that stuff. Stuff that holds ZERO appeal to me now. I pulled the box out of the girls' closet with emphatic disgust. "WHY is this crap taking up vital space that could be used for craft supplies and to-be-grown-into-Patagonia-jackets-bought-on-great-sales and memory boxes?" I got the whole stinking pile to the hall before I paused and said, "Could I... Ever... Maybe? Would I... Ever? Maybe..." NO NO NO NO! I could not would not could not join the dance. Again. Ever. The Stuff must go. But as of this writing, it hasn't.
But it's sitting in an annoying enough location that it will soon. Go somewhere.
The other day, this day specifically, I was going to stake the tomatoes and went in search of our sledge hammer. I thought that it was in a box in the storage area under the back deck. I dug around through the cobwebs and the dried oak leaves, checking box after box (why why does Someone not organize that area????). I never found the sledge hammer, though I did find several boxes of tools and one of old tupperware containers. And I also found a large box of law books. Heavy hard covered tomes into which I poured my brain and spirit and over $100k over 20 years ago. (Yes, 2011 will mark the 20th anniversary of my graduation from Columbia Law School -- scary how that time has... well, no it's not actually scary at all -- in 20 years, wow, the lives I've led... the journey to arrive HERE has been grand; I digress...) For the longest time those ridiculous books (because trust me, I NEVER had cause to consult one after my graduation one sunny day in May in Morningside Heights -- no reason to ever lift one and crack it open) sat on a shelf in my living room(s). My Black's Law Dictionary still sits on my shelf. But that's different, a true reference manual, which has been cracked. These were text books, nothing more than class materials. But they were so HEAVY, so serious. Maybe their presence reminded me to be proud of my JD, a degree that led me down the proverbial garden path. Until I found myself on the right garden path. But I AM proud of my JD, proud of my education, my knowledge, my abilities, proud of my career (to an extent), proud of my journey. I don't remember when I put those books in a box and moved them into a dirty cellar. And I wonder why I put them there -- did I ever think I'd want, or need them again? I'm going to send them packing. This week. With the Stuff.
Remember those cruise photos? I found those in a bag that had somehow become a last minute carry on tote as we boarded the ship. (Where did we get that bag? I'll have to ask Gregg.)
Inside the bag I found the photos, a bunch of "scrapbook material", and my journal The journal I started the winter before my year long solo adventure of self discovery -- three times across the US and to Panama and back. Yes, I had been heartsick over its missing status. Thank the Universe for the Share!
p.s. I just now realized that I could have used one of those heavy books to drive in my tomato stakes...
1 comment:
Ha! I was going to suggest using the books for the tomatoes. We've used medical textbooks to press cheese. Feels GOOD to clear that space, doesn't it?
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