Regrets

Well, I’m in the process of putting everything back in order in the basement now that the tile is in.  I’m organizing and giving things away—lessening the load the shelves must hold.  Pens and crayons and paints and paint brushes—all in their proper spot.  Notebooks half full of paper have been recycled.   Toys the kids have outgrown have been given away.  Old books, too.  And it’s a liberating feeling, this giving away of things; this lightening of the baggage we carry.

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Remnants

I cut out fabric to make pajamas for the kids this morning: flannels so soft I wished I’d bought a few yards for myself and two cotton prints Filibuster had conned me into buying.  One was bright red with the word Republican printed upon it in a variety of fonts.  Occasionally, a red and blue elephant bearing three white stars upon its rounded back walked across.  And there were several white circles with a red R stamped in the centers.  This fabric was to be the right leg. 

The other fabric, of course, was its opposite; the word Democrat written all over it; a donkey, also with three stars, a blue D stamped upon white circles.  The left leg. 

By the time I’d finished, the dining room floor was littered with balled-up tissue and thin strips of fabric.  I folded the big scraps and put them in a bag in the garage, intending to give them to a local thrift shop next time I was out that way.

I am not a saver.

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