Is it just me, or...Am I the only one who finds it harder to let go of things the older I get? I don't mean important stuff like family heirlooms and priceless antiques--I'm talking spoonrests and doilies here.
Consider my mouse pad. I got it a few years ago at the RWA national conference at the Southern Magic Romance Writers booth. It reminds me that I can finish my wip because I am a writer and I have the skill, talent, energy and courage to do so. I believe so strongly in the message that it's been my one constant writer's aid in the ebb and flow of so many others. Imagine my dismay when last week I looked at it and realized it was filthy. Surely someone else had infiltrated my writing sanctum and spilt coffee on it. Whose dirty wrist had marred the bottom edge? Certainly not mine. In addition to having a no-eating-at-the-computer rule I'm ferocious hand washer. How had my mouse pad gotten so dirty? I refused to ponder what my mouse had been up to when I was out of the room.
Oh, for pete's sake, my rational mind shouted. Throw the dirty thing away.
But the keeper, the pack rat inside of me, protested. I dismissed putting it in the laundry as overkill. Instead, I took it into the bathroom, found a worn-out toothbrush, put a dib of soap on it and went to work on the bottom corner.
Success! The dirt came up--almost too easily. I stood back, looking at my handiwork suspiciously. I scrubbed a little more and was rewarded with more success. Before I knew it I had an old manicure brush sudsed up and I was scrubbing for all I was worth. When the pad looked clean I rolled it up in a towel to wick away the water, waiting with baited breath for a miracle to happen.
My patience was rewarded with a good-as-new mouse pad and a new outlook toward things that probably should be thrown away.
Doilies, look out!