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.