The Blog With No Name

So here’s the thing: I have returned home from work. Is is 1:15 or so in the afternoon, still reasonable time to have a bit of lunch. I decide to have a peanut butter sandwich. Obviously once my brain made this decision, it checked out of the process because the next thing I know, I am putting the finished product in a plastic sandwich box, as though I were getting ready to pack the kiddies’ lunches. Which was not in fact the case.

…by my husband. I (vicariously; my brother took my list with him) went on a bit of an IKEA bender and now have a marginally tidier office as a result (but for how long, is what my mean husband wants to know) . Fancy black-cardboard-with-metal-corners boxes hold papers and CDs; a red tabouret under the computer table holds various cables and cords; a three-tiered in-box holds bills and catalogs and other to-be-read papers. On top of that pile is the FUNERAL PLAN. A little old lady who was a member of the church where I work died last week. No family, no living executor (because her will was twenty years old), no funeral plans, no NOTHIN’. It took several days to get permission to embalm the poor woman, much less start emptying stuff out of her house. Oh, and she never threw anything away, did I mention that. The upshot is that everyone on the staff is suddenly talking about funeral plans, and financial planning, and all sorts of responsible things. I have to call someone out in Andover to see about getting a cemetery plot.