On the Beach

Good morning.

Alex and Isabel drove off about forty five minutes ago.  May they have an enjoyable journey back across the US to Iowa.

The last of the big bouquets from Benjamin's work had begun to wither away so have dismantled it, thrown away the dead stuff and the trappings. I cut out a half dozen of the sturdiest survivors, calendulas, carnations and Peruvian lilies, and put them into a small vase.  White flowers are so lovely. 

The kitchen is adrift with opened bags of chips, many used drinking glasses, unused food...all may now be thrown away or tidied up as appropriate.

The cat gave me one desperate look..."What, left again?"....and went out to the yard to contemplate his future with an old lady.

I am left like a stranded shell on the beach. That    is not said for sympathy nor effect.  It is just true of  how I feel.  My husband's ashes are in the living room in a plastic box inside a pink plush drawstring bag.  I feel the effects of no funeral, no ceremonial; he should have had one.

My only choice right now and my only obligation is whether or not to go up to church.  Guess I will, though I don't much want to.  Don't much not want to either.  Stranded shells don't have much thinking or yearning going on.  YAZZYBEL