Time and change wait for no one

What time is it? What day is it? What month is it? What year is it? What time, day, month, year did this happen? What time, day, month, year was this made?

We are (I am?) obsessed with measuring time, recording moments like prehistoric flies in amber. Everyone is a historian, a walking time machine absorbing everything around us and keeping what’s important.

The coming switch of rooms is an archival moment; on Red’s suggestion I am moving out of the 10 by 10 room that has been my office since this house was built 10 (!) years ago and moving into the 12 by 13 other bedroom. Inevitably some of the stuff will be deemed not worthy of the move and not put on display in the new ($1 auction find) bookshelves and the new ($6.90, ditto) rolltop desk. 

After 10 years, though, it’s probably good to go through this exercise. As the messy storage room in the basement attests, I have been amiss in organizing my collections, and much really good stuff is, if not unloved, at least unseen, my treasure under a bushel basket. Time to shine lights and see what’s here.

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