nimble new year

We haven't even crossed off the 25th yet, and here I am typing about 2010's expiration date. Putting the new year's cart in front of the x-mas horse. What can I say. Well, this:

I spent the evening shredding a couple decades worth of paper, months at a time. Years of bills and documentation cross-cut and now filling my navy Sanipac bin with colorful confetti that can never be re-pieced (though any self-respecting spy or crime TV show/movie would somehow manage to repair it with a few hours and half a roll of transparent Scotch tape).

So my file folders are roomy; my house bares more wall and floor space than it has in years. In the middle of the night I walk around my abode and make piles of give-away and toss items. I suspect the fleet of Goodwill donation workers recognize the sound of my car a mile away because this is our typical transaction: "Hello Ms. XXXXXX. Good day to you. Another full car load? Shall we bring out more bins like the last time?"

It's gone. Or nearly. The chaff. The dross. The dead weight. The goal is attainable: pack everything in a van. It will be a nimble, lithe new year for me and St. Joe. We have been ready to leave for a long time now, to chug on down that driveway (slick with fallen leaves in the parallel trenches), to pretend we're not looking back, to start over. At a moment's notice.