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Goods of the Dead

Said it before, and I’ll reiterate the comment, to make sure it sinks in, anyone of my immediate family, from this point forward, has the unmitigated gall to die in Texas, in the summer time, I will not be wearing long pants to the services.

Aunt Bernie, different story. She gets the long pants. But she’s not blood kin, so I can easily be nice to her.

The strangest find, so far, excavating the house, was canned water. Hurricane rations. Or better yet? Atom bomb – red scare – rations. Over forty years old.

She’d been in that house since 1964.

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  • Open one of the cans, and report back…

  • yeah, not that brave, I’ll get back to you…

  • @Scott, aka, The Fat Guy, we’re fishing on Saturday, Rockport… want to go?

  • >Dear God, please dont let me die in the summer
    >as kramer would wear swimming shorts to the service…
    >yours faithfully mom scorpio
    >Jane Wetzel

  • Just caught up with this…I’d love to, but can’t do it. Keep asking, one day I’ll be able to make it.

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