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Yesterday I got this idea in my head to go have my will done (maybe it's because I've been dreaming about my deceased mother and other relatives who have kicked the bucket). Â So inspired, I called around and found a lawyer in a nearby town who said come in at 1pm. I realized one thing--a person needs a family doctor and a family lawyer--there's a comforting feeling about having those established connections.
I get to the office prior to 1pm--I am punctual if nothing else. There were two framed pictures in the waiting room; one a portrait of Robert E. Lee, the other of Stonewall Jackson. There was some pieces of antique furniture with claw and ball foot legs. Mr. Lawyer came in from lunch, the very picture of hurriedness. He happens to be the lawyer for a local bank, and is very busy with foreclosures. (How can a bank stay viable with all those foreclosed properties on their hands?)
Mr. Lawyer turned out to be an amiable fellow and my will business was soon concluded--I don't have much to leave my "chirren" but I didn't want to leave them a mess to deal with, though I'd have liked too. I thought for a long time, as a form of revenge, to leave no will, no funeral instructions, just let them have to deal with it all dumped in their lap. But I am too organized for that.
Mr. Lawyer and I talked about various things, then I wrote him a check for $100, and told him I'd once read Robert E. Lee wore a size 4 shoe, which astonished him. Then he went back to his foreclosures, and I went home brooding about my children, thinking about Joan Crawford's will. In it she said to her adopted son "I leave you nothing for reasons well known to you."Â A verbal kick in the ass from beyond the grave. Wish I'd had enough chutzpah to do the same.
susil
