History isn't a minimalist endeavor nor, likewise, is my house. Nevertheless, Spring Cleaning is a biological instinct and, as such, it's a pleasure to give in to the urge. Daylight Savings Time begins today—this morning we lost an hour of our lives for no good reason. But it's almost Spring, so whatever. As I take my first, jet-lagged sip of coffee, the chaos in the dining room comes into my crosshairs. How bad could it be, after all? It's just two shelves. I'm fooled by multi-packs of anti-bacterial wipes, masks, and boxes of COVID tests, all leftovers from the plague. Historically, that's only five years' worth of crap. No biggie. So I turn on my Audible version of "Remembrance of Things Past"—because I can't bring myself to read the damned thing myself, and the narrator has a seductive British accent and, moodwise, it pairs well with archeology. Then I kneel and begin the process of pulling everything out. I throw all the COVID stuff strai...