Every time I move I swear that I will never do it again. I will not even walk out the front door in case I am tempted to look back and pick up a souvenir, instead I will climb out of the bedroom window at midnight, down a ladder and run away.
Of course this never happens.
Instead John and I 'go through our things'. John and I 'sort out our papers.
This is hopelessly inefficient.
John and I have just 'sorted out the garage'.
This means that I pull out those clumsy, falling apart cardboard boxes of unused art materials, old sketchbooks, letters and notes for my novel and find all the kids A level Art and letters home.
John finds a couple of mouldy old suitcases with family photos and brochures from old trips to the southern hempishere. We should probably have taken them unopened to the tip.
Instead we spend several evenings sorting through them, scanning important images onto the computer and eventually the empty suitcases sit outside by the bin and the repackaged photos and art wait in bundles on the living room floor for the packers next month. We are both hoarders and both chucker-outers but would possibly do a better and less sentimental job on each others personal baggage. Then again, perhaps we wouldn't. Memories however are precious and we have saved them probably till our wretched heirs have to file them in black bags after out funerals!
Such is life and - death?
Of course this never happens.
Instead John and I 'go through our things'. John and I 'sort out our papers.
This is hopelessly inefficient.
John and I have just 'sorted out the garage'.
This means that I pull out those clumsy, falling apart cardboard boxes of unused art materials, old sketchbooks, letters and notes for my novel and find all the kids A level Art and letters home.
John finds a couple of mouldy old suitcases with family photos and brochures from old trips to the southern hempishere. We should probably have taken them unopened to the tip.
Instead we spend several evenings sorting through them, scanning important images onto the computer and eventually the empty suitcases sit outside by the bin and the repackaged photos and art wait in bundles on the living room floor for the packers next month. We are both hoarders and both chucker-outers but would possibly do a better and less sentimental job on each others personal baggage. Then again, perhaps we wouldn't. Memories however are precious and we have saved them probably till our wretched heirs have to file them in black bags after out funerals!
Such is life and - death?
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