Stuff

Last night we went to visit our friends from Iowa. We didn't actually go to Iowa, we went to Dundee. They were cleaning/sorting her parent's house after her father passed away.

Don was a pretty neat guy with a funny/quirky sense of humor and a long-time supporter and advocate for the Daily Strumpet, America's former irregular newspaper-for irregular folks.

They had BBQ from Huckabee's BBQ just down at the foot of the hill. BBQ seems out of place in "Wine Country," but it was very good. M's brother and wife were there from Chicago to help.

I kept thinking about how we cleaned out my Aunt's house, brought boxes and boxes of stuff to Mom's house, then Mom died. Whenever I get involved in the sorting or determining who gets what-my brain shuts down. I kind of get claustrophobic almost. Very strange, and kind of interesting. I didn't cry at her funeral. In fact the pastor asked me to read her obituary and give a talk. I made everyone laugh. I was fine. But I get in the house and start looking at her stuff and I just go blank. Get very stressed, very uptight. Wish I could have cried at the funeral, had a public breakdown, whatever it took to get it out of my system. I even have a hard time in her house. Pictures are not where they should be, her stuff is not how she wanted it.

So, I feel for anyone having to deal with a parent's death and their stuff.

We have but one child. Hopefully she will just call an antique store and tell them to take it all...