When I'd clean out my rack or my desk on the ship, I'd just dump a load of stuff into a box and bring it home. There'd be money from various places, half-filled notebooks, printed emails, awards, disks, and whatever else happened to be around...like the rubber duckie floaties.

When I root through the boxes, some stuff gets tossed (or shredded as necessary)--scribbled lists of names, long-useless bits of paper dealing with folks who used to work for me, sections of messages--and sometimes, I wonder if those might not be the most interesting bits. The day-to-day trivial stuff that time wipes from the memory.

But I can't keep it all.