The Oxford English Dictionary says there's no such word--clippery. Yes there is. I just made it up, sort of: There is a hair salon here in Hudson called The Clipperie (it's not a word, either.)
But my Clippery has nothing tonsorial about it--nothing save the scissors I use. Let me explain ...
When I was a beginning teacher (fall 1966) and saw my first classroom (Rm 116, Aurora Middle School, 102 E. Garfield Rd.; Aurora, OH), I was both impressed and daunted by the space. There were about twenty rectangular tables in there, two chairs (two hard chairs) with each table. I had a little U. S. flag on a stick, a pull-down map of the Unites States, a pull-down screen, a large wooden desk (mine!), a PA speaker over one blackboard (which was green), a few bookshelves, and a file cabinet.
I went over to it. Empty. Just like the feeling I was having as I looked into it.
But I was also learning his lesson: file stuff you might want to use later. And so I became increasingly like Mr. D. (as Benedick cries out in Much Ado: "There's a double meaning in that").
|four in the Cabinet family|
And what, you ask, is in those cabinets? Class handouts, files on just about every author who ever lived (jammed with clippings from newspapers and magazines), souvenirs from visits to museums and writers' homes (nothing stolen--I don't think), notes on books I've read, photocopies of every relevant document ever printed, postcards, brochures, DVDs, CDs, samples of student work, the kitchen sink ... you get the picture.
Now that I'm retired, I no longer clip, right?
The Dyer Clippery remains open, still working at full capacity, all employees (unpaid) still on the job. Just today, I clipped some things from the New York Times that had appeared while we were gone--a note about a Philip Roth biography, a review of Christoper Hitchens' Mortality, some other clutter that we acquired on our recent sojourn in John O'Hara Land.
Why are you still clipping? you ask.
Because if I don't, I'll die is the simplest answer.
(looking a little creepy)