The La La Song

We're inundated with oldies' paperwork. Every day, I bring in the mail and make a neat little stack for the husband. Every night, he reads it, enjoys his freak out moment and then either shoves it toward me or he reads it to me.

I do not like to be read to. I've been reading on my own for many decades. My latest choice is to put on a smiley face and send my brain to the La La Song:

La La La La, La La La La, Hey Hey Hey Goodbye.

Then we add the paperwork to the tower that is overtaking our kitchen. I keep humming. The husband asks, "What are you singing?"

"Nothing Honey." La La La La ...

Going Through Their Stuff

No one wants to die but I'm pretty sure we're going to face it. I don't mean to be flip but the people who are left behind get the tough part.

Even though we spent tons of time going through the oldies' belongings when we sold the house in Mississippi, it just put a dent in it.

I have an irrational fear of someone going through my paperwork and notes. There's only one person I trust with it; maybe because I know she won't judge me. When my friend Patsy bacame ill, she developed an obsession with getting all things in order. As usual, she wanted to spare her husband any further frustration in the midst of grief.

So, we're in constant pursuit of paperwork and documents. It feels intrusive but it's necessary.

The dungeon is back in order but the 90 pounds of paperwork is not.

Another Sleepless Night

We're sleeping in fits and starts. I don't really know what that means but it seems to be appropriate.

The husband and I went to visit Hangdog in the Home this morning. Beforehand, we had our coffee, competed on the crossword and did our normal routine. (Repetition gives me comfort.) Then the husband said, "Want to know what I was thinking about at 3:00 a.m.?"

I'll give you a few clues:

Guilt
Benefits, insurance, etc.
Obituaries
Funeral Plans
Financial things that need to be done
Paperwork and more paperwork

Yep, I was awake too and thinking about many of the same things.

General Messiness

My house is a mess. It's a good match with my mind.

Decorations are still strewn about. The tree is still naked. The husband is procrastinating (and I'm letting it go) because this is the first year neither child has been at home while we decorate the tree. He's promised to do the lights this evening.

I really wouldn't care except I'm having some ladies over for lunch tomorrow. Will they overlook the unadorned tree?

The oldies are a mess. There's a stomach virus or something going around. She got it with a vengeance. I was informed of its onset by Hangdog standing in the kitchen, screaming my name and then yelling, "Emergency!" I'm far from Superwoman but I think I leapt a couple of things to get to the other end of the house. While I was tending to her messiness AND trying to make her comfortable, he poked me and said, "There's a knot in one of my shoelaces."

There's a trail of toast crumbs plus cinnamon and sugar on my kitchen floor. I know that because I just crunched through it. It's one thing I don't have to clean up. Gabby will handle it.

My nails are a mess. I meant to do a manicure yesterday but instead, I spent that time curled up with the mother-in-law trying to comfort her. Call me crazy but I thought that seemed a little more important.

There's a mountain of office paperwork waiting for attention. I keep digging a tunnel through it and ignoring it. There's also a mountain of laundry. It will wait.

If you are on my Christmas card list and the envelope you receive is splattered, I have an explanation. I left them on the kitchen island and bacon grease got a little out of control. I'm sending them anyway.

The husband hates clutter and mess. I have no idea why he's still speaking to me.