beard

Well... mausaleum space, to be more precise. Since my mother doesn't want any bugs or roots or moisture sneaking their way into her eternal resting spot. Yeah.

This came up during one of our weekly chats. Lately, I've been avoiding her calls, unplugging the phone when I go to bed so as not to be rudely awaken at some god forsaken hour - she still has trouble working out the time difference, after nearly three years. I was avoiding her because all she ever talks about is the logistics of my return. 'How will you get all your stuff back?' or 'When's your flight home again?' Argh!

But tonight I had the added delight of death talk. It started out as: 'Got two big closings this week. 24 big ones! Now we can finally pay off the boat!' Wow. Well done Mom. More money in one week than I make in one year. What's your next big spend then?

Besides the mausaleum, there's also the funeral arrangements. She's made an appointment at the funeral home too. Gonna choose a nice white casket. Shocked my sister isn't coming along.

It was bad enough that my grandmother decided to make her funeral arrangements a few months ago... but my parents? Ack!

I told her as much, and her reply was: 'What? Would you rather we left it all to you? The stress? The expense?' Er... fair enough I suppose. But still... dealing with your parents' mortality is not pleasant.

Apparently my dad has grown a beard. A big white grizzly beard. Yet soft. There may be photos winging their way over her soon. I am disturbed. I don't know which fact is more disturbing in fact - funeral arrangements or beard?

My parents are getting old. I'm getting old. Age. Death. Eek!

Let's make some babies or something.