It's been hanging over me, this office clean out. I retired a month ago and I have yet to hand over the keys to my office. (On the upside, I am now officially an emerita which provides for a life long engagement with the university should I want it.)
I don't just want to cart things home if I'm not to ever use them again. Files of papers -- who needs them? Years of course evaluations -- what kind of person sits in her old age and revels in moments of past glory? Text books -- quickly dated. Reprints of old articles, even my old articles -- yawn. And the list continues.
If I had complete confidence that nothing, nothing would ever put me in the classroom again, the job would be easy: one box of mementos, a half dozen favorite books and I'm out of there. But who has such certainty? Someone who has utter confidence in the future. That's not me.
I do know one thing: I want to finish the job of emptying my office in the quiet of a week-end, when I'm likely to be alone. No one in the halls, no one to distract me.
So after breakfast...
...despite the fact that it's starting to snow again...
... and, too, it's cold, I drive to my office and tell myself: this is it: the final sort and purge. Ed has volunteered to come and cart out anything that I take when I'm done (my tail bone makes lifting a bit of a chore). I set to it.
And it doesn't take long. Two hours maybe and I call home: I'm done!
I would say that this is my last look out my office, but it's not. I still have office hours this coming week! But then -- that's it. And, unless something pushes me off course, today surely is my last look inside a classroom.
Hey, this is the one where I had my last class -- I tell Ed. Take a picture!
At home, I have, as predicted, four boxes of books and papers to unpack. At some later date. There's no rush now. Done, I'm done. Exhale. Smile.
I don't just want to cart things home if I'm not to ever use them again. Files of papers -- who needs them? Years of course evaluations -- what kind of person sits in her old age and revels in moments of past glory? Text books -- quickly dated. Reprints of old articles, even my old articles -- yawn. And the list continues.
If I had complete confidence that nothing, nothing would ever put me in the classroom again, the job would be easy: one box of mementos, a half dozen favorite books and I'm out of there. But who has such certainty? Someone who has utter confidence in the future. That's not me.
I do know one thing: I want to finish the job of emptying my office in the quiet of a week-end, when I'm likely to be alone. No one in the halls, no one to distract me.
So after breakfast...
...despite the fact that it's starting to snow again...
... and, too, it's cold, I drive to my office and tell myself: this is it: the final sort and purge. Ed has volunteered to come and cart out anything that I take when I'm done (my tail bone makes lifting a bit of a chore). I set to it.
And it doesn't take long. Two hours maybe and I call home: I'm done!
I would say that this is my last look out my office, but it's not. I still have office hours this coming week! But then -- that's it. And, unless something pushes me off course, today surely is my last look inside a classroom.
Hey, this is the one where I had my last class -- I tell Ed. Take a picture!
At home, I have, as predicted, four boxes of books and papers to unpack. At some later date. There's no rush now. Done, I'm done. Exhale. Smile.
