On one of our cold days this past week, I settled down to a job I'd managed to put off for years -- destroying all the old tax information we've saved, as one is told to do in case of an audit. Seven years, they say, and every year, after the taxa are done, I've carefully stowed all the cancelled checks, bills, receipts, bank statements, insurance inforation and anything else that seemed even tangentially important ib boxes and stuck them down in the basement. Out of sight, out of mind.
But not long ago we did a great clean up of the basement and I chucked all the pre- 2006 papers into empty dog food bags to await burning.
Nine years worth of paperwork kept us warm most of the day. It was a tedious job, feeding the flames a bit at a time, but strangely pleasant -- cleansing and hypnotic.
And the piles of papers made such pretty patterns -- like fiery roses.
There's a job done, as they say around here. Perhaps I'll manage to do it yearly from now on.
Perhaps I'll become a more organized person.
And perhaps pigs will fly. . .
