Document Control

Up in the bed room, behind the mirrored closet door was a bag. The bag was filled (it was one of the standard-size, grocery brown bags, with advertising on it) with twenty-five pounds of paper. In there were old bank statements and oil delivery tickets with the number of gallons of oil put in the tank and the price per gallon for the stuff. There were books of checks for accounts that no longer exist, mostly in the name of number 1 son. IRA Investment statements. Receipts for bills paid and bills due-- that one must presume were eventually paid and the receipt thereto was probably in the bag somewhere as well. Ten years or more of the financial documents deemed too sensitive to be discarded via the trash or the recyclables.

When the mail comes into our house it must come up the driveway, inside to the kitchen where it is deposited on the work surface of the kitchen counter. It might sit there for a minute or overnight, but it is eventually opened and half digested and left to sit a while longer. Again, eventually, it either finds it’s way to the dining room table to linger some more, to the computer to be paid electronically or upstairs to be paid by check or to the mysterious bag. I did not know (or really, I did not fully understand) the substance of that bag until a few nights ago when Elisabeth brought down a big, handful of papers which she threw into the fire. We had built a fire for entertainment and to roast marshmallows. On the way into the house at the end of the evening Elisabeth commented cryptically --It didn’t even make a dent!

What didn’t make a dent? I asked. She said a dent in the bag. What bag? The bag full of papers up in the bedroom. The checkbooks and the financial stuff. Oh! I said and later I looked at “the bag”, seeing it really for the first time. Big. Brown. Brimming over the top. I didn’t have the desire or inclination to peek at the contents. I was fairly sure that much of it was not so sensitive that it required a military shredding or a funeral in the bon fire. I know Elisabeth’s much more concerned about paperwork and how it will affect our security than I, but I was certain that there was much in the collection that was benign. No matter. I promised myself that I would get rid of it-sooner or later.

Today it is cloudy and I fully expect (read: hope) it will rain. The eggplant and tomatoes need it. Everything in the garden or out could use a little bit of a washing. I also considered that to be a prime time to make a fire. On second examination that makes very little sense as a raging, out of control campfire or hot embers landing on the roof will not wait to do damage until the rain starts (duh!). So that means either waiting to build the fire until it rains or waiting until after. Naw! I just lit the thing. Some loose paper. Some twigs and some branches. I waited a few minutes and began to burn the papers. Slowly at first a few pages at a time and crumbling each one. Then six or seven pages at a time. Then entire sheaths of papers and half a dozen checkbooks and deposit ledgers. All went well until there was so much paper piled on that I had to take a long stick and flip through the piles like pages of a book, exposing the leaves to the oxygen in the air. One by one the flipping sheets caught flame and again there was a roaring fire. I threw on more wood and kept feeding the documents into the inferno.

It took about and hour from start to finish to burn the whole mess. I was careful not to throw in any plastic or items clearly not of a sensitive nature. There were a few advertising pamphlets and some shipping envelopes that had nothing on them or in them. These I put back into the empty bag. Now that the fire has cooled it looks like a pit with a thousand gray leaves fluttering in the wind. (it still has not rained). In the fall I will shovel out the pit and put the ashes into the garden. It is supposedly good for the soil and inhibits slugs and cutworms. We’ll see.

Back to the mail for a moment. I have a habit of tearing unwanted mail up into strips. Each evening when I read the mail. And then I tear the strips into squares. We have a shredder but I can’t make myself set it up and leave it conveniently out for daily use. I can’t. I am pissed off enough at phone chargers, computer power supplies, power strips and wall warts, batteries, modems, cordless phones, VCRs (yes I still have one) CD and DVD players... one more appliance will tip the scale. I don’t think the most accomplished Nigerian con artist will have the time or energy to bother to try to reconstruct one of my hand shredded phone bills especially once it has been soaked in olive oil or stale cat food in the kitchen garbage. And in the case of twenty plus pounds of ten year old cable bills and cooking gas delivery tickets, it is the low tech fire for them. Good riddance.