12-29-2005
Tonight I was going to start putting bold headlines on my posts, when I realized that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was going to write. This makes it very difficult to create a headline. I could just write the post and go back and put a title on it, but that feels like cheating. So those of you anxiously awaiting headlines will have to bide patiently until my next post- or not, if you want to be snotty about it.
My office is moving across the river to Glastonbury. The distance is only 3 miles, but the effort is exponential, mentally as well as physically. We've been at our current location for fourteen years, and you can't begin to calculate the massive amount of useless (precious?) junk that I've amassed in my relatively small office. I know it breaks some Newtonian Law, but the pile of stuff I threw out had a larger volume than the office itself.
Some of the treasures with which I was forced to part caused me wrenching, soul-searing sorrow. My prized putting machine , with which I have beaten Palmer, Nicklaus, and even Woods- out the door. My toy coconut from the top of the falls of Ocho Rios- gone. Framed sheet music of such topical artists as Al Jolson and the Andrews sisters- packed and sent home. (It has been dictated that the new office have pristinely bare walls). The same fate has befallen my 50-some-odd placques for various volunteer and civic achievements, even business rewards. I also had to take home a framed advertisement picturing the first car I ever drove, a 1947 Dodge- what a car, 11 years old when I got it (the car, not me). Files of clients who've died, many misty memories as I threw them away. Peanuts from 1996 at the bottom of a drawer, 3 bottles of expired aspirin, a gift fountain pen with real ink (no ballpoint), 12 mugs of varying degrees of memoir significance, a whale-shaped letter opener from Maui, 6 broken-toothed combs, a Sherlock Holmes pipe from when I used to smoke- the list is endless.
I'm sure I'll function just fine in my antiseptic new office (did I mention that only plastic plants are allowed). But please allow me this brief nostalgic moment. Maybe, though, like the unobserved falling tree in the forest, my unobserved memoirs call the existence of my last 14 years in my office into question. With no echoing memories on the walls, was I ever there?
I guess I did find something to write about. I probably could have done the whole thing about my '47 Dodge. Maybe I will, soon. If your lucky, you'll get a headline.
Later.
Tonight I was going to start putting bold headlines on my posts, when I realized that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was going to write. This makes it very difficult to create a headline. I could just write the post and go back and put a title on it, but that feels like cheating. So those of you anxiously awaiting headlines will have to bide patiently until my next post- or not, if you want to be snotty about it.
My office is moving across the river to Glastonbury. The distance is only 3 miles, but the effort is exponential, mentally as well as physically. We've been at our current location for fourteen years, and you can't begin to calculate the massive amount of useless (precious?) junk that I've amassed in my relatively small office. I know it breaks some Newtonian Law, but the pile of stuff I threw out had a larger volume than the office itself.
Some of the treasures with which I was forced to part caused me wrenching, soul-searing sorrow. My prized putting machine , with which I have beaten Palmer, Nicklaus, and even Woods- out the door. My toy coconut from the top of the falls of Ocho Rios- gone. Framed sheet music of such topical artists as Al Jolson and the Andrews sisters- packed and sent home. (It has been dictated that the new office have pristinely bare walls). The same fate has befallen my 50-some-odd placques for various volunteer and civic achievements, even business rewards. I also had to take home a framed advertisement picturing the first car I ever drove, a 1947 Dodge- what a car, 11 years old when I got it (the car, not me). Files of clients who've died, many misty memories as I threw them away. Peanuts from 1996 at the bottom of a drawer, 3 bottles of expired aspirin, a gift fountain pen with real ink (no ballpoint), 12 mugs of varying degrees of memoir significance, a whale-shaped letter opener from Maui, 6 broken-toothed combs, a Sherlock Holmes pipe from when I used to smoke- the list is endless.
I'm sure I'll function just fine in my antiseptic new office (did I mention that only plastic plants are allowed). But please allow me this brief nostalgic moment. Maybe, though, like the unobserved falling tree in the forest, my unobserved memoirs call the existence of my last 14 years in my office into question. With no echoing memories on the walls, was I ever there?
I guess I did find something to write about. I probably could have done the whole thing about my '47 Dodge. Maybe I will, soon. If your lucky, you'll get a headline.
Later.
posted by Papa Bill | 2:11 PM
3 Comments:
You've been tagged.
Bill--I can certainly empathize with your move--we did it only a few months agao and although we moved less than a couple hundred feet it was quite a challenge. We're still sorting out the mess.
Thanks for being around!!happy New Year!!
Sometimes I get headlines but no post below them!
Maybe next time we pass through Harford we'll get my husband to play golf with you. I want to go to the Mark Twain Museum. It's in Harford, right?
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