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Comin' Atcha like Cleopatra

A bunch of people were here all day, milling around my mother's house. I spent a few hours digging through boxes of papers looking for photos of her to go in to some kind of godawful collage my mom's co workers want to put together.

Two of them stopped by this evening, one woman who i've been talking to and dealing with all along, and another who had worked with my mom so long that she remembered what I looked like when I was a baby. We went through yearbooks and scrapbooks and talked about what should be said in the obituary and the program for the memorial. They suggested some appalling idea of getting a bunch of helium balloons, tying a message for 'the departed' on to the strings, and letting them go. Uh. That's charming, in a hallmarky, syrupy, artificial way, but it doesn't fit. I politely declined.

They kind of babbled, mostly about their own problems, but they were friendly and helpful. It looks like I have to get a lawyer and do the probate thing, bleh, bleah. I wish I knew what the hell I'm supposed to do. It's getting easier, at least.

I went to Costco this evening and ran around cracking jokes and making impulsive purchases.

I have to take the dog in to the vet again for the second time in 2 weeks, she has some kind of abscess on her cheek. Poor Daphne.