Last night it was snowing in my desert home. I was so excited. I had returned home from Sam�s Club with way too much stuff, but with one real treasure�a cross-cut paper shredder. I think I mentioned in my last entry that I, we, are collectors of �precious� junk. It is so hard to give it up�almost like an addiction. I�m sure we are afflicted with this anomaly because hubby and I were raised by parents who themselves, were children of the depression. Everything had a second or third use. We were taught to save and store everything: paper, jars, gift boxes, wrapping paper, grocery bags, old tires, old bikes, cars and tools. Somehow the idea of saving items to be used for a later date got away from us. We just got in the habit of saving things, without an intended, logical purpose. Now we are engulfed in shelves filled to the brim with books, notebooks and files. We have filing cabinets, overflowing with outdated materials from the dark ages, and extra bedrooms piled high with toys, old furniture, computers, sewing machines, and more filing cabinets. Even my bedroom, my sanctuary, has been infected with the virus. My beautiful cherry wood dresser, chest of drawers, and night stands contain my entire collection of bank statements and cancelled checks for the last 15 years. In my living room, the buffet drawers do not contain silver service, but the rest of my old checks and statements for another 15 years before that. Yes dear friends�think way back to 1972. The year of our union, and the beginning of my now outdated check cache. I had determined I was finally going to shred the whole lot, all the way up to 1997, and be done with the pesky things.
I unwrapped the mighty machine and admired its grand bucket and the sturdy casing that housed the lethal blades. These menacing steel incisors would soon be ripping their way through my past, leaving it confetti. I set to work�feeding paper through, listening to the years of finance churn, grind and tear their way into tiny bits of nothing. Nothing, that is, until the *darn* thing got jammed! I promise�I did not over-feed the hungry beast. All at once, the grinding teeth came to a halt and nothing moved. My fingers were useless in attempting to pull the shreds of paper out. Next came a KNIFE. I began to pick and dig at the jam. Nothing would budge. I dug and hacked, trying to undo the log jam. *UGH* Suddenly there was a tiny break in the dam, and paper snowflakes began to fly out from my machine. I was a mad woman, as I feverishly worked to rid the teeth of the last bits of the clog. My forest green carpet looked as though it had been hit by a sudden blizzard. By the time the first ordeal ended, I had to open a window to cool off. Yes, it�s true. Within a few minutes the dumb thing was clogged AGAIN! I worked doubly hard to undo the damage. This time, however, I managed to get the knife stuck in the teeth of the piranha. Now I had my paring knife stuck in the paper shredder with shreds all over the family room, my clothes and furniture. I had hardly begun my monumental task. Finally giving up, I put the drawer back in my dresser, and vacuumed up my Arizona snow. Just think�I had snow in 80 degree weather.
Last night it was snowing in my desert home. I was so excited. I had returned home from Sam�s Club with way too much stuff, but with one real treasure�a cross-cut paper shredder. I think I mentioned in my last entry that I, we, are collectors of �precious� junk. It is so hard to give it up�almost like an addiction. I�m sure we are afflicted with this anomaly because hubby and I were raised by parents who themselves, were children of the depression. Everything had a second or third use. We were taught to save and store everything: paper, jars, gift boxes, wrapping paper, grocery bags, old tires, old bikes, cars and tools. Somehow the idea of saving items to be used for a later date got away from us. We just got in the habit of saving things, without an intended, logical purpose. Now we are engulfed in shelves filled to the brim with books, notebooks and files. We have filing cabinets, overflowing with outdated materials from the dark ages, and extra bedrooms piled high with toys, old furniture, computers, sewing machines, and more filing cabinets. Even my bedroom, my sanctuary, has been infected with the virus. My beautiful cherry wood dresser, chest of drawers, and night stands contain my entire collection of bank statements and cancelled checks for the last 15 years. In my living room, the buffet drawers do not contain silver service, but the rest of my old checks and statements for another 15 years before that. Yes dear friends�think way back to 1972. The year of our union, and the beginning of my now outdated check cache. I had determined I was finally going to shred the whole lot, all the way up to 1997, and be done with the pesky things.