Purging Petronilla part 2: 112 things in 01/2012

And here is part 2 of our January purging efforts!

While the first half was mainly championed by me (as my husband was occupied with a series of post-burglary door-securing projects), the second half was mainly championed by him.

Go baby go!

It all took place in our 2nd bedroom, which is the residence of lots and lots of papers. Academic papers and articles my husband has printed out over the years, a file of my papers including old college stuff, childhood stuff, drawings, poetry, etc.

Papers are one of the hardest things to purge, because before throwing them away I usually feel the need to check each and every one. Which takes loads of time. And if I form an emotional connection with the paper in question that I’m reviewing because it stirs up memories of our early dating years, or my triumphant A+ in that one French class, then it becomes hard to throw away.

But we forged through! Not quite mercilessly . . . but a little mercilessly.

We got rid of well over 60 things–old checkbook covers.

My husband’s old Dark Shadows catalogue.

My old manuscript-style study of the book of Mark.

It was the most intense, amazing, satisfying, brain-stimulating study of the Bible I’ve ever done. And it involved lots and lots of colored pencils.

InterVarsity (the Christian campus organization that we belonged to as undergrads) loves their colored pencils. I remember thinking “how childish!” when I was first introduced to this technique of studying the Bible, but a mere 20 minutes after thinking this, I realized how great the color-coordinated marks are for seeing patterns in the text.

Sigh. I loved my undergrad life.

But it’s over. To the trash with you!

I also purged more old college syllabi.

Goodbye Intro to Criticism!

Jonathan Elmer did a fantastic job with that course . . . but am I really going to read through all my notes ever again? Probablement non.

When all was said and done, after this year’s purge I only kept the materials from one solitary poetry class and one lone French class. Maybe those can go next year, we’ll see.

Things that we uncovered that did NOT get purged:

My friends! Big Hermie, Little Hermie, Kaiser and Winston. I always thought of Kaiser’s name as spelled Cizer, by the way. It feels important that I should disclose how his name is spelled in my heart.

And my sheet music!

That ain’t goin’ nowhere soon.

This is just a tiny stack pictured, but there’s tons of it–a box full. Piano music, vocal music, choir music, classical guitar music, violin music. And it all must stay. That stuff’s expensive, man. And I totally want to take up the violin again once we’re in a more sound-proof apartment where I won’t die of guilt when the sreeching noise of my ineptitude fills the room.

By the end of our paper-purging evening, we had two huge trash bags going to the dumpster.

And it felt gooooood. With a couple empty file boxes, I was also able to find a new and safer place for my camera equipment.

Next year we’ll have to do 113 things, and I’m already looking forward to it. Not that we can’t purge throughout the year (we will! especially if we move) . . . but there’s something to be said about doing it as a joint project with your more-than-willing spouse, and feeding off of each other’s enthusiasm.

Until next year, Petronilla!

I didn’t want to call him ‘Logan’

I had a dream last night.

I regularly have dreams, and tell them in great detail to whoever might be handy. And this morning . . . that’s you! (I hope. Hello? Hello? Are you out there?)

I was walking down a concrete sidewalk of sorts with my husband, and I had baby James in the crook of my arm. The sidewalk was set in a hilly area, and as I looked up at the grassy incline to my left, suddenly I realized there were cows everywhere. “Moo!” they said. My husband started to steer us away from the cows, but I reassured him “They’re not dangerous–don’t worry.”

But as we progressed further into the melee of cows, suddenly I realized there were also lions and tigers in the mix. We hadn’t noticed them at first because they were lying down, stretching and napping and generally chilling, but as we passed by they started yawning and waking up. I counted at least two tigers and one lion . . . plus a white tiger. I wasn’t sure whether to keep walking, go back, or just stand still. Though at the moment the cats were still pretty snoozy, at any moment they could turn into life-threatening fur-bags of muscle and terror.

My husband started running, and I almost shouted “No! That will just attract their attention!” But then I realized that he was doing it on purpose. He was trying to draw the animals away from James and me.

And then, as I watched my husband sprint away and the tigers and lions started running after him, there was a man with a gun. I thought, “I should duck in case he fires off some shots,” but before I could get a grip on the situation, my husband was tackling him.

It was a glorious running tackle, and as he took that guy down, my heart swelled with pride. People started clapping. I beamed. Two cops shows up and pointed their guns at the criminal and I thought, “we’re safe! My baby is a hero!”

BUT THEN. The cops were surrounded–the gunman wasn’t a loner. There was a whole crowd of criminals, and we were all taken prisoners. I was crying, but proud, but crying.

I was sitting in the back of a truck with a bunch of other hostages watching things unfold with the criminals and the cops and my husband. There was a small blond boy sitting next to me who was maybe 4 years old, and his mom was one of the criminals. He poked her in the back and somehow killed her (this part was fuzzy and she conveniently disappeared), and I realized it was now my job to take care of this boy. “Logan is now my son,” I thought. “My responsibility.” Then I realized I didn’t want to name a child ‘Logan’ and wondered if it would be feasible to change his name to something I liked a little better. My heart was full of love for James and Logan.

One of the criminals was telling me about this play that a bunch of kids were putting on, and I realized that Logan was involved and that I’d have to get him there. “Rehearsal starts at one o’ clock,” he told me, “but ends at 13:00.” I figured he meant 15:00 and rehearsal was two hours long, but as I spoke up to clarify with him, it dawned on me that this was his way of telling me that there was no rehearsal, since the start and end time were the same. I wished I’d caught on more quickly.

Then, in a completely unrelated part of the dream, I went to Plato’s Closet only to realize the store was shutting down and all they had in stock were some hideous green evening gowns.

Thank you for listening.

What does it all mean??