Back in town from Michigan where we were helping pull some things together for Z's grandma's memorial service on Thursday. Sorting through undated photos and dated letters, newspaper clippings and dance cards got me to thinking I should make a more conscious effort to organize and document my own life. This evening I pulled out dusty folders and boxes. Flipped through letters and cards. Drawings. Photos. Nothing is sequential. Nothing is dated. Everything has multiple homes. A millipede ran out from under one of the piles. Shortly after that I packed everything back into folders and boxes and put them back where I found them. My conclusion: I've done a better job of holding on to correspondence from family members than I thought I have. Didn't do as good a job as I could have. Did a poor job of holding on to important letters from important friends. And I am still disorganized. Another day. I'd like, at least, for everything to eventually be in one place. Or maybe that's an unlucky idea. Another day.