Two bags of shredded paper; that’s what I have after clearing through some paperwork from awhile back. I hadn’t realized the papers were there until I picked up a box and looked inside. It was hiding among forgotten clothing donations. Some of it was nine years old, so I knew it had to go.
But wait! These days you can’t just throw stuff out. As it is, one has to recycle plastics (I’ve figured out how to remember which numbers in the little triangles are okay to put out for rebirth as new stuff: just remember using the bathroom, and “number one” and “number two” go in the bucket, while everything else is trash), so papers of any kind have to undergo some scrutiny as well.
Anything with a name and address on it gets shredded, as does anything with an account number, a reference to private matters or involving money. That’s a lot of stuff to sort, but I still managed to fill an extra bag of non-shredded paper for trash pickup, and there may be one or two more before the week is over.
The shredder has, thankfully, been cooperative. During the sorting process I managed to find some remnants of the past, such as three sheets of address labels I can still use, a few photos I had written off as missing, and pages of my novel manuscript which I had transcribed from a critique session.
In the trash are cellophane windows from envelopes, staples, a few desiccated rubber bands (have you noticed that they don’t hold up for long these days?) and miscellany not suited to anyplace else.
The experience left me feeling content in having rid myself of unnecessary clutter, as well as nostalgic while going over some old times.
Now I have new projects, like putting the found photos in an album and figuring out where to store the manuscript pages. It’s a constant adventure, which is why they call it recycling.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 