where grief meets extreme idiosyncracy meets homeland security
I am finishing up packing. Pared my things down to minimals: a few versatile outfits, a couple pairs of earrings, toiletries, phone and charger. Everything else will take care of itself out there.
Mom's stuff is the hardest. So much random, beautiful crap. Crystals and shells and single earrings and piles of paris metro tickets from 1996. It's hard to figure out... period. It's just hard to figure out. None of this makes any goddamn sense, from almost any perspective. Certainly not to an outsider.
Packing up the ashes and the confetti and the piles of laminates from the country fair. Leaving all the art and the travel guides and the journals. The tiny bubbles go in a plastic bag and should be fine to carry on, because individually they are less than 3oz each. Need to remember the death certificate to go along with the ashes. Also the Altoids containers. Can't forget the Altoids containers.
The TSA guys are going to hate me so hard.
Mom's stuff is the hardest. So much random, beautiful crap. Crystals and shells and single earrings and piles of paris metro tickets from 1996. It's hard to figure out... period. It's just hard to figure out. None of this makes any goddamn sense, from almost any perspective. Certainly not to an outsider.
Packing up the ashes and the confetti and the piles of laminates from the country fair. Leaving all the art and the travel guides and the journals. The tiny bubbles go in a plastic bag and should be fine to carry on, because individually they are less than 3oz each. Need to remember the death certificate to go along with the ashes. Also the Altoids containers. Can't forget the Altoids containers.
The TSA guys are going to hate me so hard.