As I shoveled out my home office today, I cleaned out old files that have been lurking around since the middle ages – at least MY middle ages. I had bank statements dating to the early 1990s which even the IRS wouldn’t expect me to maintain.
Since I don’t own a shredder and couldn’t go buy one since I was waiting for my hair color to finish processing, I decided to build an altar to the past and burn the documents. I went out back and fashioned a kind of barbeque pit, and began to torch them one by one. It was mesmerizing. I watched the corners curl and the data slowly shrivel into ash.
I decided that putting the past to rest in my little home-made crematorium might even be a good omen of better times ahead. I got so absorbed into the activity that I didn’t realize that neighbors were peering around the corner to make sure my house wasn’t on fire.
I welcomed them into my “crematorium” and we had a kind of impromptu inferno party. I totally forgot about my hair which is now a rich chestnut color.
What worries me most is how much I enjoyed the fire, flames and smoke. And I’m enjoying my new fragrance – I call it “charred hamburger.” I expect the local fire department would frown on my new hobby, and I won’t make a practice of it. I promise.