Yesterday, I was in the process of moving my working space in my "crowded city" remote office. Same floor, just different space. After working for a company of this size for more than 2 years, you kind of expect to move every now and again … just for facilities sake, I think. I've been at this same spot for more than 3 years now, so I'm overdue to move. It provided me a chance to purge my desk a little.
I am no good at throwing stuff out. Considering my past job tasks, this has been a very good thing indeed, as I've been able to get information on meetings from 3 years prior and not lose anytime in moving forward with planning a return to that same venue. However, it has also been a very bad thing because I also am no good at filing things. My desk was … trying to find the right adjectives … well, it made sense to me anyway.
I had holiday cards from folks I have no intention of ever contacting again, and holiday cards from sales guys who I will haunt for the rest of their days. I have my red Swingline stapler (hey - that's MY stapler, got it??) I have one Silver Oak wine glass waiting for the day I decide to start drinking again, and interestingly two bottles of equally nice red wine under my desk (which I keep there for emergency purposes - like an earthquake or a difficult Thursday afternoon). I have a thank you note from Olga at Tiffany & Co., who sold me a silver baby gift (that Scott and I sent to Andy in celebration of the arrival of his second daughter), and a newspaper clipping telling me that Jonathan Wright is no longer the executive chef at the Windsor Court Hotel in New Orleans (a GREAT and wickedly expensive hotel. Take my word for it – if *I'm* describing it as "expensive", it is – but VERY worth it.) My gut tells me that much of this stuff should be thrown out, or boxed and stored in my garage until some random weekend when I decide the boxes have aged properly and *then* throw them out. There's only so much space and I've learned in the past couple of years that I NEED very few "things" in my life.
Speaking of "only so much space", I've been TRYING to remember the name of my Great Aunt Ynez's husband since I posted about my July 4th memories. She was already a widow when I was born, so it's not like I have any imprint to reference. However, after deciding NOT to think about it, it came to me in a flash last night as I was making dinner. Don. His name was Don. And I'm sure that I lost some other small piece of information when I came up with that.
Now where was I? Oh yeah - back away from my emergency wine or I'll hit you with my stapler...
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