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Here some entries ago, back nestled into the box of Spite Chocolates, I discussed The Horrible Pumpkin Contest, which I thought was when I was in fourth grade. It was not.
Before he went to his house in Mexico, my dad handed me a stack of papers and whatnot (he'd been cleaning out his office, an off-again, on-again project that he has been pursuing since his wife's death like two years ago) that he thought I might like. I took the papers and, er, threw them on the dining room table after I got them. For the last two months, I've ignored them hoping they would go away on their own. They did not. (I live alone with two cats. Hoping things will get handled if I ignore them long enough has not, heretofore, proven to be a successful strategy.) The fact that I tried this "method" of handling things after endless prior failures, should tell you lots about my... standard of housekeeping (Low. Low is a standard.) and also my frequent lack of reasonable executive function to deal with things like historically interesting artifacts from my childhood. *sigh*
But when I went through the papers, which I finally did this weekend because Squeaky Wheel knocked half of them off the table in some sort of high speed frolic thing, and by "went through" I mean "picked them up off the floor prior to being pissed off and throwing them in the trash because apparently they had aged sufficiently for me to be allowed to throw them out now", LO, included in the sheaf of papers was a newspaper clipping OF THE AFOREMENTIONED PUMPKIN CONTEST. How 'bout that?
Now, this is a cellphone picture of a forty year old newspaper clipping, so do not expect much, but if you would like to see (a) young me and (b) The Baller Idea, Poorly Executed in all its small-town-newspaper black-n-white glory from forty years ago, go ahead.
Also included in my dad's handover of papers were several letters (actual paper documents) that I'd written him in college, from which I have gleaned some wisdom from my college years, which... wow. That's below the cut, too.
( Come on, clickit, you know you want to... )
Before he went to his house in Mexico, my dad handed me a stack of papers and whatnot (he'd been cleaning out his office, an off-again, on-again project that he has been pursuing since his wife's death like two years ago) that he thought I might like. I took the papers and, er, threw them on the dining room table after I got them. For the last two months, I've ignored them hoping they would go away on their own. They did not. (I live alone with two cats. Hoping things will get handled if I ignore them long enough has not, heretofore, proven to be a successful strategy.) The fact that I tried this "method" of handling things after endless prior failures, should tell you lots about my... standard of housekeeping (Low. Low is a standard.) and also my frequent lack of reasonable executive function to deal with things like historically interesting artifacts from my childhood. *sigh*
But when I went through the papers, which I finally did this weekend because Squeaky Wheel knocked half of them off the table in some sort of high speed frolic thing, and by "went through" I mean "picked them up off the floor prior to being pissed off and throwing them in the trash because apparently they had aged sufficiently for me to be allowed to throw them out now", LO, included in the sheaf of papers was a newspaper clipping OF THE AFOREMENTIONED PUMPKIN CONTEST. How 'bout that?
Now, this is a cellphone picture of a forty year old newspaper clipping, so do not expect much, but if you would like to see (a) young me and (b) The Baller Idea, Poorly Executed in all its small-town-newspaper black-n-white glory from forty years ago, go ahead.
Also included in my dad's handover of papers were several letters (actual paper documents) that I'd written him in college, from which I have gleaned some wisdom from my college years, which... wow. That's below the cut, too.
( Come on, clickit, you know you want to... )
