Old cards and letters
Rainy gray day here, one for staying inside and, for me, not one for being inspired. That led me to the basement, to a room referred to as the library room or the red room interchangeably, for some needed sorting and throwing out work.
It's called the red room because it is painted a definite red, my idea, and it's called the library room because one wall has floor to ceiling built in bookshelves. Another side of the room is lined by file cabinets. It could actually also be referred to as the ancestor room as the other useable wall is covered with framed family hierloom photos of sorts, grandparents, great grandparents etc, this over time having become the room for their collection. The most notable aspect of the room, however, has become the role as repository for everything that has no place else to go but that we, or I, don't want to throw away. It should be noted that there is a large walk in closet in the basement so full that it can't be walked into and I have only three or four jackets in it, so there's more than one pack rat here.
So on an afternoon when I was stalled out and didn't want to go out, it was time to do some needed work on the red library ancestor junk room. Today's chore was primarily going through 12 years(the time in this house) of Christmas cards, birthday cards, congratulatory cards, some postcards, and just a few letters as those are no longer sent. These cards and letters were piled on a desk and in three large woven baskets, gifts from a relative who actually took a basketweaving class in the eighties.
This was not going to be random. One by one I sorted through each piece of mail and thought about whether it should be kept. The great majority fondly headed for the trash pile but a precious stack, including all postcards, will be archived, for lack of a better word. It was a two and a half hour trip through our recent lives, and those of friends and relatives. It was fairly mesmerizing, like reading a good book. The feeling was not sentimental, not maudlin, not inspiring, not invigorating. It just was. It was a time of being thoughtful and maybe a cleansing experience which makes sense as I was cleaning.
The task finished it was time to go upstairs for a Coke and a look through today's mail. Sitting down in the reading chair, putting my feet up, it became immediately apparent that I was exhausted. Old cards and letters can do that.
It's called the red room because it is painted a definite red, my idea, and it's called the library room because one wall has floor to ceiling built in bookshelves. Another side of the room is lined by file cabinets. It could actually also be referred to as the ancestor room as the other useable wall is covered with framed family hierloom photos of sorts, grandparents, great grandparents etc, this over time having become the room for their collection. The most notable aspect of the room, however, has become the role as repository for everything that has no place else to go but that we, or I, don't want to throw away. It should be noted that there is a large walk in closet in the basement so full that it can't be walked into and I have only three or four jackets in it, so there's more than one pack rat here.
So on an afternoon when I was stalled out and didn't want to go out, it was time to do some needed work on the red library ancestor junk room. Today's chore was primarily going through 12 years(the time in this house) of Christmas cards, birthday cards, congratulatory cards, some postcards, and just a few letters as those are no longer sent. These cards and letters were piled on a desk and in three large woven baskets, gifts from a relative who actually took a basketweaving class in the eighties.
This was not going to be random. One by one I sorted through each piece of mail and thought about whether it should be kept. The great majority fondly headed for the trash pile but a precious stack, including all postcards, will be archived, for lack of a better word. It was a two and a half hour trip through our recent lives, and those of friends and relatives. It was fairly mesmerizing, like reading a good book. The feeling was not sentimental, not maudlin, not inspiring, not invigorating. It just was. It was a time of being thoughtful and maybe a cleansing experience which makes sense as I was cleaning.
The task finished it was time to go upstairs for a Coke and a look through today's mail. Sitting down in the reading chair, putting my feet up, it became immediately apparent that I was exhausted. Old cards and letters can do that.
posted by John Borden at 5:32 PM
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