Atop the pile of papers next to my computer is a note that says simply “piles.” It’s a reminder to look through all the piles of magazines, unopened mail, newspapers, and handwritten notes that decorate my house: two on chairs in the dining room, one on a seat in the vestibule, one on the floor of my study, and the one beside my PC. These are technically known as “doom piles,” which is actually an acronym for “didn’t organize, only moved.”
It all started with Jane Austen. When my mother went into a nursing home in 2014, I found a copy of Sense and Sensibility in the recreation room, and started reading it to her – one chapter at a time.
It was hard for Mom to follow the plot (and hard for me, as well) but she liked the prose. Once she remarked to her nursing home boyfriend, Stuart: “It’s fun to listen to these sentences because they’re enjoying themselves so much.”
Unfortunately, my mother left this earthly plane before I could finish the book. About a year ago, I decided to return to the novel.
I finished Sense and Sensibility, and immediately moved on to Emma, the last book Jane Austen published in her lifetime. I found both novels delightful, but somehow after reading them, I lost all desire to read a book.
“What will I read now?” I wondered. Then I noticed the piles of useless periodicals and papers lounging around my house. “That’s it!” I decided. “I will finally start reading these.”
One “scrolls” through a file, but one “sifts” through a pile. I began sifting.
Delving into piles of printed pages is a kind of archaeology. The same way the famed archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann discovered seven levels of Troy, I probed seven levels of useless paper.
Here are some of my discoveries: a copy of Jewish Currents (Spring/Summer 2014), a Leftist magazine my friend Larry Bush used to edit, a copy of The Marijuana Report (December/January 2022/23) with a review of the marijuana recipe book my friend Pesha Sloane wrote. The Bethel Woods calendar for last fall. The cover of the book of short stories by Saki that I’m reading, which fell off. The envelope – but not the letter – from my friend Fred. Do you know those end-of-the-year letters families send with their Christmas cards? I found one written by my friend Emily Dutcher (not her real name) from January15, 2019.
And an interesting Seasons Greeting card – of course it’s not a Christmas card – from the Democratic Party. It shows a town populated by donkeys (the Democratic symbol) in winter, including one who’s building a snow-donkey (the Democratic equivalent of a snowman).
I’m always looking for ways to sneak my poetry into my essays, and here’s an easy opportunity. One of my piles contained a folder of poems left over from a reading I gave, including:
Mystic Truth
In a past life he
was my cousin;
Now he’s my
postman.
I’m very scrupulous in other areas. If I buy a new pair of pants, I give away an old pair. Every day I scan the refrigerator for produce that might be wilting. Broccoli never goes yellow in our house. But unfortunately, there’s no expiration date on a magazine.
But there is a publication date, so I know exactly when the periodicals I’m reading were printed. For example, the issue of The Believer I just finished is 11 years old.
My problem is that I have too many interests. The other day I went to the doctor, and started reading the Reader’s Digest in the waiting room. I had barely begun an article about an undercover cop – a former “exotic dancer” – infiltrating white supremacists in Arizona, when the doctor came. I complained to the nurse, and she said: “They’re my magazines; I bring them in. Just take it!”
I’m reading the magazine now, and it’s fabulous. Did you know that there are deeply religious people who literally beat swords into plowshares? Well, not quite literally. Rather, they disassemble guns that are confiscated by the cops and turn them into gardening tools! (The group is called Swords to Plowshares Northeast.) This is my problem. Just when I finish a copy of n+1, the literary journal, suddenly an unpredictably “woke“ version of my grandmother’s favorite magazine (i.e. The Reader’s Digest) surfaces. If only I could read one article from each periodical, then toss it in the recycling, like a normal person! But I am cursed with an insatiable thirst for educative essays.
One step forward, two steps back – that’s the way the hoarders attack.
Incidentally, the word “piles” also refers to a troubling condition of the anus. How did hemorrhoids get that name?
Here’s what Google says:
Hemorrhoids are called piles because the name comes from the Latin word pila, which roughly translates to “balls”. This Latin word referred to the appearance of swollen hemorrhoids, which can resemble small, round balls or masses around the anus. Over time, pila evolved into “piles” in the English language, and the association stuck.
An article like this should include simple hints for handling one’s accumulated papers. I have an idea, though perhaps it’s cheating. Take one of your piles and simply merge it with another file, thus making a pile twice as high.
It’s a start.
Join the family! 
