Cleaning Out My Office

The attic in our house is one of those walk up things that leads to a cavernous open space that stretches from one end of the house to the other. When we built this place 28 years ago it looked like you could land a plane up there. Now it is packed to the gills with the detritus of a full life well lived. That’s a flowery way to say—it’s an unruly nightmare. One of the jobs that await me in my pending retirement is to bring order to the chaos up there. But, there’s a problem. Before I can do that I will first have to add stuff because very soon I will have to clean out my office.

When I retire at the end of this year, Allison will be moving in to my old office. She has told me this many times. “What furniture will you be taking with you?” She asks several times a week. Not that she is anxious for me to leave or anything. They all claim they will miss me terribly and I want to believe them, but sometimes when I catch them in there measuring for drapes, I wonder.

Anyway, so I know that eventually I will have to decide what I’m going to do with all the furniture, the artwork, and the accumulated memorabilia from a 42 year career. I will have to empty my desk and credenza, sort through all the important papers and files I will need to keep along with my collection of fidget spinners, fart machines, water pistols, magnetic beep-making devices that I have employed over the years, along with my collection of remote controlled cars. Honestly, I’m not looking forward to it. Packing up an office into cardboard boxes is an activity that lends itself to introspection and melancholy. I would rather not go there. But, it’s got to be done.