Piles of potential combustion
Although we subscribe to very few magazines in this house, something untoward happens. Check the flat surface: coffee tables, bedside whatever you call them, the media centre. Notice the piles of printed material.
I recently sorted through a couple of the mounds, going beyond the “align the edges” effort. Based on cover pages, these are all publications of merit. Else, they would have been caught at the first step in our household sort facility (the recycle bin). All were judged as worthy of a more detailed examination (what the teachers refer to as “reading”). And due to other distractions, that hasn’t happened.
I know, the article in the CAA monthly, about planning your world tour, seems like a great thing to study. The world tour is not going to happen, based on my progress plan for a sane life, but I might be called upon to give counsel to another. The kids. Or a neighbour. Being prepared for such interventions is near the top of my personal belief system.
Anyhow, today we sent a moderate sized pile back to step one: the recycle bin. I’m less likely to dig deep in there and lose my daylight hours, curled in a corner. The realization that our next visit to the postbox will replenish our “unread library” isn’t a reason for shame. It just means another session of secondary sorting, in a few weeks. And if ever we decide to have an evening bonfire, the tinder is close at hand. That’s why I avoid daily newspapers: fire hazard.
