“Remember when mom told dad that if he left notes like that, we would find them?”


“Look in the bottom drawer of the chest in the back room.”

Mash notes. Old love notes. “Your naked body next to mine,” notes. Parent porn.

Goods of the dead.

I’ve joked about it before, but I am the most normal one in my family. One cousin was flying in, and we’d asked for flight information, to arrange a ride from the airport.

“Hey cousin,
my plan now is to arrive in Dallas on Alaska Airlines at 1:32 PM.
I’m planning to check one bag.
See you soon!”

Yeah, not sure what day to go to the airport, but at least I got some flight info.

There Be Dragons:
The other morning, after some semblance of normality was returning, I wandered into the dining room. Breakfast room. Kitchen table, call it what you want. I had been walking up to a coffee shop for morning coffee, more out of a desire for exercise rather a need for steaming water pressed through coffee grounds (topped with foamed non-fat milk).

My father was the designated coffee person, and when there were guests, he would make the espresso. Mom? Yeah, not so much. Her tea escapades are legendary, “I like to steep it for half an hour.” That’s not tea, that’s lacquer remover.

So sister and mother start making coffee noises in the kitchen, grinding beans, preparing the machine, and I thought about offering to drink the day-old, but then, they would make noises, and some battles aren’t worth the fight.

“Look at this,” Sister said, “he’s got his feet up on the table,” I did, “and he’s waiting on us to wait on him, just like dad.”

A heinous thought flashed through my wee, little mind, “Bang on the table and demand service.” Another thought flashed through my mind, “Spent enough time in the hospital already.”