We had been in our new home a little more than a year and I felt it was becoming cluttered and in need of some mid-Fall cleaning. I decided to start in the back bedroom that we used as a sort of office.

After filling two garbage cans and a large plastic bag, I felt I was making a dent in the mess. I was on a roll and in search of getting rid of more stuff.

Without really putting it to reason, I decided to toss out a box marked, “Journals.” It was jus’ sitting in one of the corners collecting dust and it seemed reasonable at the time to throw out the fifty composite-style books.

The following day was garbage collection day for the neighborhood and I set everything out near the sidewalk for pickup. I went to bed that night feeling better for having done some something about the perceived junk in the backroom.

A couple of days after the garbage had been collected, I found myself feeling remorseful over having tossed out all my personal journals. For the life of me, I couldn’t think why I would have done such a thing.

The next garbage collection day I was trying to do anything possible not to hear the garbage truck pull up out front of the house. I didn’t want to be reminded of my stupidity.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. When I answered, I found our garbage man standing on the porch hold.

“Here,” he said, “I think you might have thrown these away by accident.”

It was all of my journals. He got a nice Christmas bonus that year.

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