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Living In The Garden Of My Debris

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The Tampa Tribune

Published: January 28, 2009

Two very responsible adults and an I-don't-care chair inhabit my house. The adults bring home the bacon, clean, cook and pay bills, while the chair controls the peace, calm and energy of its fellow occupants.

Every home I've ever lived in (all four of them) has had such a chair. It begins life innocently enough as a place to sit and have a meal. But over time, it evolves into a time-eating, voracious and constant companion. It nags, cajoles and spoils almost every weekend.

I am referring, of course, to the place my husband and I stash mail we choose not to handle on the day it arrives. Medical statements (and bills), insurance updates, junk mail, letters from friends that need answering, post-it notes to remind us of obligations or promises we've made, catalogs for bed sheets or boiler plates, fear-mail to warn us what will happen if we don't subscribe, order or pay for in advance. I particularly hate the your-subscription-is-running-out warnings that start coming seven months before the end of what I have already paid. There are imprecations to join, unsolicited gifts in hope of a contribution and coupons I just might need. Any cause we have ever donated to sends repeated mailings seeking more.

And so in the hectic rush of the everyday, we set these papers aside on a chair at the kitchen table. Actually, we have two such overburdened seats: a his and a hers. They usually grow in size until tilt sets in and then we feel obligated to set aside a day and process everything.

The papers disappear rapidly when company is coming. The stacks are then carefully carried to our respective closets. Needless to say, this moving complicates matters. I write this today because both piles have risen to table-top height and are screaming for attention. I will respond, setting aside the afternoon to file papers, track payments and log in insurance information. I will write the letters I've been meaning to, file the e-mail that has accumulated and catch up on newspaper articles I've intended to read or clip. And I will relish stuffing trash in the can.

As I gird my loins for the encounter, it is with the clear knowledge that the pile will re-emerge in just a few weeks. Each time I do this, I resolve to pay closer and more frequent attention to my chair. Today, I will be good.

Judy Kramer can be reached by e-mail at JudyandOz@tampabay.rr.com.

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