How to Grieve: part 2

1) Say good-bye to your visiting friend.

Well, no, I did not actually paddle her back to Phoenix.

2) Get ready for SIX new house guests.

Confession: I did nothing to get this room ready. Paula did it before she left.

If I were a guest, I'd probably want this room.

Garage turned into kids'  dormitory--slightly less charming if you could see all the crap that is not in the frame.

3) Finish hanging stuff that I "inherited" from Dan.

"It does not have anything to do with anything," the inscription says. I probably said something like, "Everything has everything to do with everything," the moment I first saw this hanging in his place. No matter.

This is where the gong his daughter found in his garage is now hanging. I love it.

4) Eat up all the strawberries to make room for gallon after gallon of milk needed to keep 4 children from coming down with rickets. Or whatever it is that requires children to drink so much milk.

5) Ponder grieving and friendship and bow down to every kindness. Um...almost. I am still bewildered at the friend who left a sympathy card and a cracked and worn bobble-head Santa Claus on my door-step in the wee hours of the morning without letting me know that she'd driven up from L.A. (She does not read this blog.) As we memoirists like to say, you can't make this shit up. Current theory: She confused two boxes and meant to give me booze. 

6) Relish the thought of a full house.