Random Bits of Paper

 

 (photo: fridge door, October 16, 2020)

The church across the street is running ‘Operation Warmth’ this winter - collecting gently used winter clothing. It’s the sign, the nudge, I needed to start sorting my husband’s closet, and passing on the clothes he no longer wears, like shirts with buttons, and trousers with zippers.  Before I run everything through the wash I check all the pockets, finding change, a battery, a roll of washi tape, and other assorted things he picked up at some point. A multitude of pens. Scrunched up scraps of paper. 

I unfold each scrap of paper before I throw it in the recycle bin, just in case I find a note.  Because even in our era of emails and texts, Doug wrote me notes. I haven't found one in his winter clothing yet, but I might, and I’ll savour it and save it. 

I’ve always saved bits of paper. Some friends roll their eyes and send me links to websites about de-cluttering. Mum jokes that it’s genetic - my using the backs of envelopes for list writing, and postcards as bookmarks - inherited from both her father and her maternal grandfather. Maybe I was drawn to scrapbooking because it involves collecting pretty paper, and justifies my saving concert tickets, tourist maps, and boarding passes. (Remember those things? Paper boarding passes, concerts, tourists . . .? From a bygone time . . .)

(photo: scrapbook page from a trip to India, 2006)

Doug and I celebrated our marriage by walking Hadrian’s Wall (as a coast-to-coast path) and the Speyside Way (distillery-to-distillery!) Fun fact: we found some bills, train tickets, and letters my great grandfather had saved (using them as bookmarks in his guidebook) from his exploration of Hadrian’s Wall in 1938, so we were able to retrace his steps.  We visited the same pubs he’d visited, and it became a running joke - translating old money into new and calculating the different in cost of a pint then and now. We also imagined and laughed about the differences and similarities in the food and the decor. So much joy from a handful of random bits of paper. 

(photo: scrapbook page from our Honeymoon, 2012)

Genetic predisposition or clutter . . . .  What matters to me is that I still find handwritten love notes from Doug tucked into books, and jacket pockets, and his desk drawers. I keep them on the fridge door, so that every single day I read his words. These tiny mementos of his love have become more precious to me than he ever could have imagined when he wrote them.