My Twisted Sense of Humor

To know me is to know I inherited a twisted sense of humor.  Thanks dad!!  My father was funny and out there and laughed at things you sometimes not ought to laugh at…..and *sigh* I do the same.  I guess that is one of the perks of having your father raise you …alone, by himself.  There was no mother to gently guide this terrible behavior out of me.  So I am pretty much twisted…..but then you already knew that right?

We are moving.  To a house.  I am beyond tickled.  A house…a real house made of bricks.  I will soon have a fireplace and garage and grass and trees and patio and a master closet to die for.  All the things a girl wants growing up…especially the closet.  Did I mention the fantastic closet?  Heck I am excited there is a special little storage spot for brooms and mops.  Yeah, I get excited about that type of stuff.  I have already threatened to do snow angels on the living room floor I am just that excited.  I can’t believe I am fixing to own a garage door opener. 

So with moving comes packing.  Boxes.  Lots and lots of boxes.  And in boxes goes stuff.  You know your personal stuff.  Books, clothes, blankets, sheets, make up you never use, dishes you forgot you own, appliances you never use.  Just stuff.  So here is my dilemma and where my humor comes into play. 

My dad was cremated.  After his cremation he was divided in thirds.  Morbid I know.  So I have one third of my dad.  Currently he sits on a bookshelf in a plastic bag, twist tied shut and in a plastic box.  I have more of him than I thought I would have and he is heavier than I expected.  But there he sits.  My third of a dad in a box.  He just hangs out up there.  No worries..it’s dad in a box. Except we are moving.

I now have a quandary.  Does Dad in a box go into a box?  I mean do I just pack him up? Dad in a box in with some books, a couple of hangers and random papers that are part of the last few boxes you box up?  The random stuff that has no home as you are organizing your life into little or big boxes.  Will my dad like his box in a box?  Or do I just carry him in the truck with me and two kids and a dog?  What if I have to put him behind the seat? 

I have discovered there are no cremation etiquette.  I have to figure this out on my own .  So for now, until the day of moving, dad in the box will sit on top of the bookshelf collecting dust with the clock.