They accumulate like unwanted inches around my waistline – the avalanche of requests for my contributions . . . in return for a splendid calendar … or a warm glow.
It’s July 2016 and I am already prepared to plan the entire coming calendar year. Or would be if I filled in the 365 blank slots on my nascent collections. So much for living in the moment.
Today was hot. My only air-conditioned room is my upstairs study.
There, in various piles and files and folders nestled an astounding collection of missives from worthy organizations awaiting my generous donations.
I recycled about two thirds of them. The remaining third will be pleased, I hope. It’s the best I could do.
And the fire department can rest a little easier. There’s at least a bushel less paper awaiting spontaneous combustion.
But I cannot hide from the heat forever. Having cleared so many nooks and crannies I can descend my staircase assured that my checkbook and I have moved the world a little closer to paradise – or at least something a little closer to the way we/I would like it to be.
And my cat, having almost given up hope, will finally get his dinner.
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