No Rest From The Searching

I was looking through the filing cabinet where I kept the receipts for clothing and gifts. All the ones from the past two Christmases were there, in a special folder. In the kitchen drawer, there was a stash of grocery coupons, dating back 10 years. Hey, it was a deep drawer. I confess to a compulsion to save receipts and pieces of paper of all kinds. Not just save them, but know where they are should I need them. My search came because I needed to exchange a pair of pants. Guess what? I couldn't find it. Not right away at least. I decided I needed to reduce what I kept and change where I kept the stuff in the drawer.

That was seven or eight years ago. The drawer has dish towels in it now. The important receipts are in those folders in the filing cabinet. I've quit keeping grocery receipts. I tell you, I feel like I deserve a slot on the Today Show to discuss my success.

My dreams are fraught with futile searches for lost receipts and lists, misplaced paperwork, my wallet--especially my wallet--and such. The other night, I dreamed that I was scheduled to sing on Broadway and couldn't find the paper on which I'd written the words of the song. I asked if I could sing "Memory" from the play "Cats." That one I seemed to know by heart. I belted out the first few words and the notes rang loud and true. But, no, they wanted me to do the scheduled song. It seems, "Memory" didn't fit in this play. So I searched. Don't believe that bit about how dreams only last a few seconds. I know I searched all night for that paper.

I must tell you that, outside this dream, I can't carry the tune to "Happy Birthday." My husband insists it wasn't a dream, rather a nightmare--at least for all the people who had plunked down good money to see the Broadway play.

Why do I do this? I don't have a clue, unless it's because my mother didn't save very much and, what she did save, she couldn't find. When my father died, they'd been married 40 years and all their important papers fit in a shoe box. The Erma Bombeck columns I've kept wouldn't fit in a bushel basket. That may be stretching it a bit but, I haven't looked in my Bombeck Save Box in a while so I can't say for sure.

As a kid, I recall feeling anxious when my dad asked to see last year's income tax filing. I knew my mother was going to scurry around looking and, chances were, she'd thrown it away. And if she hadn't, then she'd put it in a new "better" place, so she could find it easier next time. Of course, "next time" had come along and it was the same old story.

Me? I know right where to lay my hands on those old Christmas gift receipts. My system is better than when I was looking for the one for those pants. Doesn't keep me from dreaming about losing them, though.

Lookin' back, I wonder if anyone ever told my mother about the old adage, "a place for everything and everything in its place?" As for me, if I start making alphabetical lists of where my "save stuff" is filed--and, yes, I've thought about it--I might need to start heeding another old saying, which is, "lighten up."