After a perfect weekend with not one, but two parties, The Big Daddy and I were chatting on the way home from party #2. The dinner party with the prime rib that we’ve talked about over and over because we talk about great meals with gusto, much like the local weatherman forecasting spring’s first whiff of tornadic activity.
The BD had to go and ruin the prime rib honeymoon I was enjoying by asking, “If you had to leave home and didn’t know when or if you were coming back and could only take two suitcases what would you put in them?”
Not only did this leave a sudden acidic taste in my mouth after such a delish meal, but this is the kind of question he normally only asks when there is a Republican in the White House. Maybe 2016 already has him worried.
I am used to these sorts of thinly veiled panic attacks from him, though, and so I answered quickly and truthfully, “Photos and underpants.”
“Bwahahahahahahahaha,” he chuckled. “No, really, what would you take?”
“Really, that is what I would take. Photos of everybody I love so I can look at them and clean underpants to change into for the end times. In case I realize I’m being left behind and you know, have an accident.”
He was being serious. So was I. We went back and forth like that for awhile but there really wasn’t anything else I could think of.
A knife to stab myself?
A Tide pod and Clorox to wash my underpants?
Floss?
Granola bars?
I am lightening my load around here lately. There is a stack o’ crap in the basement that will be stickered and hauled out this spring for MY LAST GARAGE SALE EVER. We are down to two vacuums instead of three. I have pitched dried up paint cans by the dozen. Have a dog? Need a kennel? Free for the taking. There is a bag of clothes to donate and I’m still at it. If it hasn’t gotten worn this winter, is too tight, too loose, too short or too tall it has gone in the bag. I am being ruthless about getting rid of stuff.
Stuff. Overwhelming stuff.
Last week my mom turned 86. A darling, vibrant 86. Believe me, we are well aware and enormously thankful that we have her and she is in good health.
If I’m forced out of my home and into the unknown, I’ll clutch her photo and my suitcase of clean underwear and forge on with hope, faith and a wicked sense of humor. Just like she’s always shown me.
.