Comments on: So, about recycling…

By: leakelley

leakelley — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 14:55:55 +0000

The end of the story?
I guess it REMAINS to be seen, eh?
I am still chuckling (with a bit of anxiety).
I know how chaotic this entire year has been and it is only typical that things would get lost in the whirlwind that has been your lives lately.
I have every confidence that “Faith” will rescue the ashes from this Bazaar story.

By: Roads

Roads — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 12:32:16 +0000

Good song choice, Linda.
Ashes to Ashes remains (sic) reserved for part 2.

By: sparkle333

sparkle333 — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 07:50:14 +0000

friend LOL!

By: sparkle333

sparkle333 — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 07:47:45 +0000

Linda, I laughed, I cried. I understood. It’s just the sort of thing that would happen to us (in our crazy mixed up life.) To be honest-I have a confession. My stepdad’s remains are under my husband’s desk. Who knew Sam would reside at the feet of a busy lawyer? Here’s the reason. When the funeral home first gave him to Rob, the starkness of all that was Sam (all 6’4″ of him) being reduced to a rather small cardboard box was well…too stark. I was afraid it would be too “in your face” for my mom, so I wondered if we might not purchase something…anything…that would be…well…less stark…(We did not receive a velvet bag.) So my husband had him transplanted into a modest container of sorts, by the funeral home. (I’ve never laid eyes on the box, or the container.) And everytime we think of presenting him to my mom…well, it just hasn’t been the right time… You understand? I mean, how do you just hand her (her husband) in a box or a container, and then go about your day as if nothing transpired? (Excuse the pun.) Sometimes life (and death) is really strange. Yes?????? I wasn’t sure I wanted him on my mantle either, so he now rests in a law office. (Not terrribly respectful, and that bothers me. But of course, I know he is no longer there. He’s in heaven, probably laughing too!)
So I fully understand how Barbara and Fred went missing. And for (almost) atheists to end up at a church bazarr, IS totally bizarre-but I bet they’re laughing right now (from the box?) This would make a good sit-com, huh? I can see Roseanne playing your part-LOL! At any rate, let us know when they are found. (“I was lost, but now I’m found” has a totally new meaning.)
You never cease to amaze, entertain, provide a smile, a laugh, or a tear. Thank you my frind-Lonnette

By: writinggb

writinggb — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 16:26:38 +0000

Linda,

Yes, truth is stranger than fiction — the old cliché.

Our beloved dog’s ashes have been sitting for two years in the basement. I couldn’t bear to place them where we spend any real time. I made a tiny little shrine on a shelf in the living room instead, a figurine of a dog and a small box with a lock of her hair and her favorite pebble that she used to carry around the house in the days of her dotage.

Thanks for sharing your story today — I think you’re right about Owen’s reaction!

By: rosiesmrtiepants

rosiesmrtiepants — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 11:02:00 +0000

Grief makes one fuzzy around the edges, as your story portrays. Caught up in the remembering and the cleaning out of a loved one’s belongings, each item evoking a certain memory, complete with sound, smell, and video played in a reel in one’s head.

I can remember when my Grandpa finally had to move out of the house that he and Grandma had already lived in for over 20 years. That house full of memories of my childhood…of riding the pony that Grandpa had fashioned from wood with his very own hands…of Grandma’s cookie cutters…of eating from the dishes that were Grandma’s pride and joy…of Grandpa’s recliner and the retro metal bowls we used to eat popcorn in.

I can remember my Grandpa moving, after my Grandma had already moved to the Assisted Living and not being able to help move all of those things, to be in that house, to relive all of those moments and knowing all of the things that would become the possessions of perhaps the less fortunate, or possibly just the possessions of a happy garage-saler. I couldn’t stand the thought.

I can remember going through Grandma’s closet when she moved to Assisted Living. This was not terribly painful, although I did insist on taking home several items of clothing, that, to this day I do not wear. They are in my basement and I won’t go through them. I just know that they are there.

When Grandpa moved out of the house, and then later when he died, all I remember is a paralyzed feeling and a profound sense of loss…why are we giving this stuff away? What about this, or that, or WE CAN’T GIVE THAT AWAY…hence the collection of furniture in my house…almost every piece that was Grandpa’s, or that I identified with Grandpa.

During this period, Mom briefly “lost” Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding rings. In typical post-teen fashion, I couldn’t help but say to my Mom…”What the fuck?” And again, after she garage-saled it all away…”What the fuck?”

My apologies for the rambling, Linda. Your blog always catches me right in that space between my lungs, forms a lump, and makes it hard to breathe until I can let these things out.

I thank you for that.

Rose