A long three-day weekend. Three-day since Friday I took off work, not because President's Day is a holiday from my job.
The family met at a lawyers office to discuss the state of my late Grandmother's house and how to get it sold. Or more appropriately, how to get it off everybody's hands. As the attorney was speaking options took form. Sell it, auction it, or burn it. Auction being the most likely, burning the most entertaining. It could sell, but it comes at a risk of turmoil that could forever fracture relationships. But how can relationships compete with money, or nostalgia, or power?
That evening we drank and flirted with young girls and shared a few pictures.
Next morning breakfast was cooked in short order and the caravan down to the house began. Move things out, clean, change the locks, fix the front door, eat a bucket of KFC, take a load to the dump, a load to the thrift store, finish packing vehicles with treasures, head back.
That evening we drank and flirted with young girls and shared a few stories.
The family stays the same, the family changes. Who has a permanent position? Who is disposable? How do I fit into it, why am I concerned? Maybe becoming an adult is not relying on it. Not relying on anything or anyone, but ghosts, memories and yourself.
Relying on your own story.
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