It Had to be Done

I went through my banker's box tonight. The recycling bin is brimming, the stack of bills was smaller than I'd imagined, and now I have several neat piles on my desk. The only casualty of my procrastination was Yo-Yo Ma's December 5th appearance here in Tucson. She who hesitates reads "Sold Out!" on the website. What self-respecting fan of West Wing could have missed this opportunity? Alas. Other than that, I am pretty pleased with tonight's efforts.

G'ma's bills/alumni organizations communications/small but pretty calendars/incomprehensible medical statements, including one from a physician I've never heard of or met...... that's the one to tackle tomorrow morning. It's living on the extreme left corner of the desk; if I'm looking at the monitor I'm seeing the pile. Grrr...... who invented peripheral vision???










Yo-Yo Ma is staring at me (reproachfully, it seems to my disappointed eyes) from the far end of the middle series of piles. He's sandwiched between one of my journals and a stack of chances to win a $500 shopping spree if I just spend 15 minutes on-line detailing the ins and outs of my last transaction at Target. Actually, it was a great visit. I spent a good proportion of the time I was there looking at the $1 Halloween items, with the Little Cuter by my ear through the wonders of cell technology. I described and she oooh'ed and aaahhh'ed and we missed each other a lot, though mostly we were just happy to be doing it together. (Do NOT tell me that technology is the scourge of creating community!!!!!)

The middle stack is the notes for this post resting on another journal sitting on an incomprehensible BlueCross Blue Shield of Arizona description of our coverage. I will begin drinking after posting and see if that makes it any clearer. Sober, it brought me to tears. On a lighter note, Netflix wants us back as members, and they're even going to give it to me for free. Now that is confidence! We've been pretty happy with the TCM/Retroplex/on-Demand/Pima County Public Library selections so far, and I'm enjoying the leaner lifestyle we adopted late last summer but they're offering it for free............ I have a hard time saying "no" to free.

The carousel horse is the top of a stack of postcards G'ma is sending to her grand children as soon as I get the correct addresses and postage on them. We are working our way through her stationary drawers - everybody's getting postcards this time.

The whole thing looks like a mess, and I suppose, to the untrained eye, it is a mess. But to those with true discernment, these piles are my plan writ large. First I gather the materials in one place. Then I sort through and discard the detritus (a great word which is not spoken aloud nearly as often as it should be) and separate my stuff from the Cuter's stuff (forwarded mail from addresses gone by) and from G'ma's stuff (it all ends up here eventually so why not have it come here initially?).

I pay the bills and put them away before I start on the rest of the piles. Always do the most onerous chore first - it worked for algebra in the 9th grade and it works today in my dotage. Then I'll start with the fun stuff.

I'll go on Craigslist and see if I can create a ticket buying opportunity for the second cellist I ever cared about (after Pablo Casals and just before the third, Pansy Chang, with Pink Martini).
I'll re-read the thoughts I noted in the journals and remember the time and place and the feeling and some of them may actually appear right here in the Burrow some morning at 6am.

The postcards can make me smile at the fact that no one has any idea what postage costs these days? We're all using those forever stamps and postcards used to be a penny according to G'ma so what kind of resource is she??? But I'll figure it out and affix the postage and have a big smile on my face the whole time.

This is the feeling I want to preserve and be able to recall when, once again, all too soon, and with alarming regularity, the bankers' box begins to sing its siren call. There's no need to strap me to a pole on deck, I am perfectly capable of resisting its cry without any assistance at all. Perhaps, if I look back at these pictures of the "goodies" that are in store for me tomorrow now that I've cleared out the debris and taken care of the necessities I'll be able to bring back the relief and the absence of angst and take a dip in the pool of "do it now and don't wait any longer".

I doubt it. But a girl can dream, can't she?