First for the big news. After several years of vacillating, Sweet Hubby and I have decided that we will move to California, probably to the Santa Barbara area, probably within 5 years. There will be a lot more about this as the plan develops.
Because of the anticipated move, and because I just generally feel burdened by clutter and stuffstuffstuff, I made a promise at the beginning of the year to get rid of/let go of at least one item a day. This has led to a neatening of the junk drawers, letting go of some recipe books which were little more than messes of paper, going through my jewelry (I have a lot of it for someone who seldom wears it) and closet, etc. One big accomplishment was to go through the house and collect all our candles and their accompanying plates, jars, whatever. We used to light up candles for playtime, but our alpha cat showed a dangerous fascination with flames, so out went all the candles and glass, a couple of boxes of them.
Yesterday I decided it was time to go through the several boxes containing a packet of letters, programs, reviews, etc for every play production since the beginning of my writing career. I have accepted the probability that no one is going to need these artifacts as research for my biography so keeping this stuff doesn't make sense. My nieces and nephews certainly aren't going to want to look at any of it. I haven't looked through these boxes myself since ever. The productions are listed very neatly on my 12 page résumé, which is really all the record I need.
This has so far been the most nostalgiafying exercise since I made that new year promise. Every packet evoked memories of the people, the places, the excitement and agony, the anxiety and joy, the triumphs and disappointments. I remembered in detail every performance I had been able to attend. Part of me wants to keep it all as a record of my having been alive on the planet. These are the relics of a full creative life. I guess it's hard to think that once I'm dead, there simply won't be much of a ripple to show that I was here. Which, of course, is true for pretty much everybody except the geniuses and villains whose ripples become waves which shift the whole world.
I started with the oldest box, 1982 through 2004, and am only halfway through it. This is going to be a long process, mostly because I am removing the staples in order to cleanly recycle the paper. There are three boxes after this one, which will take me through 2020. It feels good to be letting go and making space. I'm glad to be doing this, and will be even gladder when it come time to pack. But still, it's a weird feeling, this review, this letting go. I'll bet you you know what I mean.
