Late this afternoon I needed an account number for a utility at mom’s mainland house. I quickly flipped through the file pile looking for the last bill I’d paid, and was astonished at how much paper had accumulated since I last filed three weeks ago. Not finding what I was looking for, I sat down on the floor, filed the stack of paper, and found what I needed (in a file, of course!).
The file pile had zero charity crap in it. Zero chaotic notes… Zero multiple-duplicates of printed emails… And yet it grows like kudzu if I don’t stay on top of it. It gave me pause to understand a little more about how my mom had zero control over the paper input in her life. She couldn’t throw out the charity requests, forgot she’d printed the email, couldn’t understand her own notes, yet couldn’t throw them away…
Now mom gets only her periodicals (delivered by yours truly), and shares them with fellow residents when she’s done. Yes, her apartment has a month’s worth of daily activity schedules, serveral days of the local newspaper, and more magazines than you or I would hang on to, but it’s better than it was, and it makes her comfortable.