Forget your old acquaintances, as the song goes, and pay them no mind.
Or at least that’s what I thought “Auld Lang Syne” meant when I was in the fourth grade. When I announced this opinion on the “should auld acquaintance be forgot” line to the class during a lesson about the song, my teacher straightened me out with a confused look and quickly moved on to the smarter, more musically gifted children in class. The first time, but oddly not the last, that I would be put in my place by a woman playing the autoharp.
This episode came to mind the other day.
I was in the meditative zone that comes with manual labor; the reflective mood that overtakes you when you’re gardening or building a birdhouse. As I like to do during the “lost week” between Christmas and New Year’s, I was cleaning out my closet and drawers, getting rid of a year’s worth of clothes I’ve not worn and probably never will.