"I've Forgotten More History Than You'll Ever Know"

I try to be diligent about moving things to a "give to thrift store" pile on a regular basis. Got two new 50s platters for my birthday? The 1980s one must go, to make room. Need a hanger? Find one thing I haven't worn in a year: out it goes. Of course, I often have second thoughts. Today's errands would bring me by a thrift, so I grabbed up two ready bags. I glanced in: a white T-shirt? I put away too many Ts when I switched seasons, let me grab this one. Oh. My history grad school shirt: "I've forgotten more history. . . ." I nabbed it.

At some point in the last two days (as I shift to Student Standard Time, I lose track of actual days), I went on a serious digression, looking for an old notebook. I felt certain I had a whole class at Mount Holyoke on oral history, a topic skimmed in a current class. No sign of it, though, in the box o' notebooks (yes, I am a packrat). My transcript is full of classes with indecipherable abbreviations, none of which seems to be oral history. I guess the project I remember so well, for which I interviewed an elderly alumna, was part of some larger class. I promise I spent less than 20 minutes flipping through notebooks; and I even virtuously pulled out a bunch of photocopied handouts to review and toss. It wasn't a waste of time -- it was cleaning!

I just looked over a couple of inches of photocopied journal articles and book sections: H's African History class; some English class; one of my southern historys; and a huge amount on African-American religion -- did I take a whole class on that? Did I have an English instructor named Ellis, or is this a shared style handout? Look at all this great southern history stuff! Statistics, seminal writings -- *shlush* into the recycling bin, all those things I'd forgotten I had once known. Oh. I always did like that shirt.

Capital City weather: down to 29 over night.