Conversation with My Wife (151)
“So… you mean, you never heard the voices…?”
So part of our Grand Plan for retirement is to get rid of everything in the house we don’t need (ever), then the stuff we don’t need (much), and finally get to the point that we can move into retirement living at a facility that also has support for independent living, not-so-independent living, and (in my case, probably) memory support.
However, putting things in categories could be tough, sometimes.
For instance, we have a tombstone. It sits next to our fireplace.
ME: I think we should just put it in the backyard. Let the bushes grow up over it. Then, maybe ten, fifteen years after we’ve sold the place, they’re clearing brush and somebody finds it.
DEB: And thinks they found a 19th Century¹ grave.
ME: Exactly! And the name doesn’t match any previous owner and the records don’t mention a cemetery and they’re terrified of digging because what if?
DEB: And if they call us and ask us, Jackster?
ME: Then I say, “So… you mean, you never heard the voices…?”
DEB: We’ll figure out something else.
¹So how did we get a headstone from 1878, you ask? Deb’s great-grandfather (Charles Tanguy) was a stone mason, and he did the stone for his wife when she died, but he could not afford good stone. Then decades later his grandkids (including Deb’s dad) found the stone, considerably weathered, decided to replace it, and then of course had the old tombstone left over. It got passed around and Deb ended up with it. It was NOT the movers favorite thing to transport.
Copyright ©2020 by Jack Herlocker. If you steal any of this, Great-Grandma Caroline will haunt you forever.
