Paper Monster

I have been saving too many papers and have resolved to reduce the volume by at least a quarter. My goal is by one half. And by Tuesday at the latest.

The stacks, like the blob out of the old Steve McQueen film, creep up on you. Given time and neglect, you'll be surrounded by papers of no use now but of potential use later, at least that's your cover story. These morale-lowering, depression-inducing, hills and files are hardly reassuring. For every occasion when you say, "I'm glad I saved that" there must be fifty when you are stunned the item is still around or you are wondering what induced you to hang onto it in the first place.

My mother was a champion hoarder of Olympics caliber. A child of the Depression, she would keep things on the premise that they might be needed or traded some day. One item that I've kept in memory of her is an old burglar alarm key to which she'd attached a note: "Doesn't work."

That says it all. Bring on the trash bags.