Top sleuthing

These chocolates make a fantastic gift.

It's such fun.

Because the recipient can hog them or share them. And they're probably sinfully bad for you but that's only temporary. And since they were given then that forces them to eat a few. At least one. Possibly all of them.

They're gift-wrapped and you don't even have to do it.

My experience is women love these things.

It was the weirdest unfortunate irony. 

I ordered a bunch of crap for myself that arrived in a large box. Knock on the door. By the time I get to the door the delivery guy is already gone. I yell, "THANK YOU" but nobody answers. There is a note. From the office. It said that the office will not accept packages. They will not store them. Please make arrangements for delivery. They're saying that they don't want to be involved with our packages. That's fine with me. I assumed it was Amazon who delivered it. Apparently the office had someone else bring it up.

They're passive-aggressive that way. It's bossy notes all the time. Everything through notes on the door. It's always "rules for everyone -- applied to you." It's an odd way to communicate. Always hiding behind universalities. 

At the same moment the office is receiving this box of chocolates I sent them. 

And they're flipping out trying to discover who sent it. 

It was driving them nuts. 

I had it sent to the queen of the office. Another woman down there will get her own later. A different kind. 

But for now both of them are wracking their brains trying to figure out who among a few hundred people might have done this. 

That kills me. They can't just accept it. They have to know who.

They found a phone number on the outer box label and called it.

I answered. 

But they had nothing particular to say because they didn't know who they would be talking to.

She had to wing it. 

"What's the matter with you? Why did you call me when you don't have any business?" 

     "I do have business. I called to thank you for sending me the chocolates. How did you know that I can't resist them? How did you know they're the perfect thing?" 

"I didn't know. In fact, I was doubtful. I had to really think about it. Because I know that you're careful about watching your diet. And I know you don't want to grow BIG FAT HIPS LIKE AN ELEPHANT. " (So share them already. With everyone. So you only eat one.)

     "Yeah, that." 

"How did you know that I sent them? I would tell you tomorrow anyway in our meeting." 

     "I found a number and called it." 

"Top sleuthing." 

     "Yeah. That's us. We're top sleuthers." 

Take that! Now they have a change of attitude about resent of helping me out with Amazon deliveries. 

We did have our meeting today. I found out that I am the resident who's been here the longest. 

"Did everyone else die?" 

I don't know why that was so funny. A few of them actually did die. 

Unrelated. But overlapping.

I had a dream that a check arrived in the mail and the man who sent it is feeling dragged down.

But nothing further than that. I didn't know the reason for the check nor what dragged the guy down.

Then today a check did arrive in the mail. 

A big one.

It is the settlement from Joseph's estate. 

That means the whole thing is ended. Everything is wrapped up.

The executor is a friend of mine. He is the man in the dream who was dragged down. 

I emailed him to tell him I received the check. So thank you for that. But I sense that you're feeling dragged down. Are you okay?

He cannot possibly be so dragged down as me right now. Boy, do I ever have a lot to say about that.

He wrote back with a message much more touching than the note he included with the check drawn on Joseph's account.

He told me what he has been though, what a burden handling Joseph's affairs was on him. How relieved he is to have it all finished. He elaborated on the toll it has taken on his body. 

He went further and told me he flew to Arizona to stay at Joseph's house there alone taking it all in how this chapter has closed. He said he feels odd. To hang around in a guy's house who is dead. But the house feels like a friend. 

A house feels like a friend. 

I'm trying to understand that. 

I never had feelings for a house. I never understood my sibs returning to our old houses just to see them. I never understood my parents showing our house to visitors. I never understood that curiosity. 

And now this. 

I just don't understand it. 

Yesterday my older brother called me. When he spoke about the place we lived in Momote Village inside Camp Drake on the northwestern edge of Tokyo, he cited the house number. He was ten years old at the time.

My sister referred to the house we lived in at Shady Grove Bossier City Louisiana by its street address. She was eight years old at the time. 

My sibs blow my mind. They remember our old telephone numbers. 

My psychology protects my soul by forgetting all that quickly as possible. Their psychologies protect their souls by bringing all that forward with them and hanging onto them. Revisiting them.

I do not understand hanging around a house by oneself and now quieted by death that was used for partying heartily while alive. It means hanging on. Or perhaps it means letting go slowly.

But the way he went on made me glad that I asked.

And I asked because of the dream.