An open letter, redux.

To Whom it May Concern,

Just in case there is something equivalent to karma in the doctrine to which I ascribe, I realize that there is now a very long flight in my future wedged in the middle seat between a screaming infant and a very drunk passenger with poor personal hygeine. Remember, though, that I have no cute babies to show off on this blog. This is what I've got.

Sincerely,
Carrie

An open letter.

(Yes, I'm jumping on the bandwagon.)


Dear Airline Passengers Who Sit in Coach,

You might think you should be jealous as you've watched me get upgraded to first class for the second consecutive time. But, just think about that extra leg room and attentive service, those warm washcloths and complimentary meals. At some point this frequent flier status from uncharacteristically heavy work travel will expire, and I will be forced to rejoin you. But, I will have had my eyes opened. I will have tasted the sweet. Pity me.

With love,
Carrie

The Odd Shelf.

Amid said cleaning, I paused at the bookshelf. I generally hate to part with books, but sometimes you have to make room for new acquisitions. In the process, though, I happened to flip again through one of my favorite collections of essays by Anne Fadiman (Ex Libris). In one, she writes:

"It has been my belief that everyone's library contains an Odd Shelf.  On this shelf rests a small, mysterious corpus of volumes whose subject matter is completely unrelated to the rest of the library, yet which, upon closer inspection reveals a good deal about its owner... My own Odd Shelf holds sixty-four books about polar exploration: expedition narratives, journals, collections of photographs, works of natural history, and naval manuals.

"My interest is a lonely one. I cannot trot it out at cocktail parties... Reading in bed I will say to George, "Did you know that on Scott's first Antarctic expedition, Edward Wilson got up at one and five every morning to premasticate seal meat and stuff it down the throat of the pet emperor penguin chick he had captured on the Great Ice Barrier?" George will grunt. He is a rainforest man himself..."

Mine would be anything plague and pestilence -- fiction, non-fiction, essay, drama, narrative, etc. (I do, however, trot it out at cocktail parties. This is probably not coming as a surprise to anyone who knows me.)

So, do you have an Odd Shelf? What's on yours?

Okay, so it's a stretch.

I'm in the midst of multidisciplinary (pre)spring cleaning -- desk at work, apartment, old emails, random documents untouched on my computer -- and am faced with this:   Some people are pack-rats and some people throw everything out. My father, for example, is pretty much the quintessential pack-rat. My mother is a tosser. Not such a bad combo.

Unfortunately, as a result I think I managed to end up with both genes.  I tend toward accumulation, but I also LOVE to throw things away (I mean, real joy!). I'm finding it's a nasty feedback loop. I think I feed my craving to discard by building it up in the first place (real joy magnified if you can throw a lot away at once!).

(I'd like to break the cycle, if anyone has tips).

(Apologies, but there's really not much newsworthy in my life at the moment, and I don't think blogs should lie dormant for too long.  Thus, a post about spring cleaning.)

(Or, I just really like talking about myself. Which is what blogs are all about anyway, right? Or so I've been told...)