Today, we managed to gather a special PTO board of directors meeting to ratify the new bylaws. Again, and again, not perfect, not a perfect job, but one that is now done. May 10, the last PTO meeting of the year. I hand over the guiding task -- president, if you will -- to a new soul. And she will be terrific. Really terrific.
And after the presentation (and some paper work) and handing over PTO power, I will be free. I am longing for it, but I am terrified at the same time.
I had time today, so I brought up a box to sort. Old receipts, bills, thousands of rejections from literary magazines, sweet letters from New Yorker editors (even though David never got a story there). Sometimes I think that I must either save everything or nothing, but that is only in rash moments. David should have thrown so much of this stuff away years ago! It is such a burden going through it, so much sadness for me. I can't do the same thing to Cheshire and Julia. I have been trying to come up with an organizing principle for the next round of sorting, and I had an idea today. I will put together a box, maybe two of David's writings (and hopefully one copy of each one), and then do a chrono file with an expanding file for every year. At least it is a place to start.
This saving of paper does feel rather mushy right now. I don't know the reason for it. Going through box after box, it is so clear that we have not been through these papers since they were put in their boxes. Yet I cannot part with it. Not all of it. Maybe in 40 years or so, Cheshire will just chuck the whole lot in a dumpster.
It is all about moderation, but is moderation 5 boxes or 20? Does it matter that we have written all our lives? I feel the weight of one who inherits a lifetime's worth of writings, not like on of the participants. I want to lighten my load and sometimes it is only so as not to have a cluttered basement.