She’s going to start the new year by dusting off some memories in her office – Daily Breeze

So, we’re supposed to start a new year with some resolutions, right?

I would like to solve the problem so that my eyes will improve and my feet will be more agile, but I’m afraid it’s not possible. So, looking around me, I see that my office is the place that needs the most improvement.

This office was once our farm’s feed room.

There was a trapdoor in the ceiling through which hay was pushed for the horses. But when we moved in, we didn’t have any horses and we weren’t planning on getting any.

So we hired a carpenter who lined the room with bookcases and built me ​​a desk and filing cabinets. Voila!, a clever desk.

However, in the thirty odd years of my tenure, I see the space become dusty and dilapidated with piles of papers and photos cluttering the shelves and filing cabinets.

And yet, in a way, my whole life is crammed into this freezing room.

Near the door is a bulletin board covered in photos. They cover the years from my brother’s age of two – a curly-haired pixie sitting bare buttocks in my grandmother’s garden – to my high school graduation, all sixty girls wearing dresses white roses, each carrying eighteen red roses.

Then there’s me as a young matron trying to look serious as president of the new, very small Friends of the Library in 1965.

There’s my youngest grandson, about six years old, waving a peace sign, and a host of other treasured memories. I think I’ll start by getting more thumbtacks and tidying up this messy board.

The book shelves on two walls also sum up periods of my life.

Three books bear witness to my failed attempt to learn Spanish. One shelf is given to my decade of all-consuming poetry and there are five shelves of novels that were once beloved and are now mostly forgotten.

Three bookshelves of reference books that I once used in my writing are rendered totally obsolete by the computer, so obsolete that they are no longer even sought after by the library’s book sale.

Children’s bookshelves are the most beloved and memorable, from AA Milne and Beatrix Potter to Mary Poppins and Wind in the Willows.

On a top shelf are my grandmother’s copies of all of Louisa May Alcott’s books. There’s also a shelf of murder paperbacks with print too small for me to read these days. I guess I could get rid of it.

There are several albums with family photos, and there are 12 albums of the trips that Charlie and I took.

We cycled in Poland, Canada, Holland and Italy. We visited Turkey and rode elephants in Nepal. We sailed on a boat in what was then Yugoslavia, New Zealand and Maine.

We also made 12 trips with his three university roommates, the last to Portugal in 2015.

As for the binders, one set has tax information and another has more memorabilia – magazine articles about this house, my son’s artwork, and my daughter’s beads.

Another set of binders contains my writings.

I’ve published two middle-aged children’s books, but there are a lot more manuscripts in those drawers.

I laugh now, realizing I’ll send a story once and if it gets rejected, I’ll put it away without further ado. I suppose I could scour them for gold, but I doubt I would.

Except for unnecessary reference books, I’ll just dust off and put the rest away.

These memories are too precious to throw away.

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