Today was one of those days. First, I spent an hour or two chasing around the house, scaring up the appropriate personal effects for her burial. I found everything except her best Pelican medallions. I suspect that they are in her good mirror box, which appears to have vanished into the same black hole as our white folding table. No doubt I'll find it sometime in the coming months. I'm taking this as a sign that she is looking down and asking me to pass them on to appropriate candidates instead of burying them with her.
Then tpau came over with the newly-created shift, and we went to the funeral home. We passed on the stuff to a rather bemused and slightly confused Mark Douglass (the funeral director), with detailed instructions about how all the clothing works. I suspect this is the first time he's had to be instructed in how to use a belt, to say nothing of the coronet. (tpau gave him her contact info, with strict directions to call her with the inevitable questions.)
Then I met with the groundskeeper of the cemetary, who showed me where the gravesite is. (Directions to follow, for those coming on Monday.) He explained to me that, while it's a hassle, the snow was actually a bit of a blessing, because it insulated the ground -- breaking the grave didn't involve digging into essentially solid ice.
And then I went suit shopping, which was the most bittersweet part of the day. You have to keep in mind, Jane and I have always been recreational shoppers: it's one of the activities we enjoy most. But doing it on my own feels hollow, without her there to kibitz on the contents of the shop windows, both lovely and horrible. And while she taught me enough taste in clothing that I *can* choose it for myself, it feels strange and wrong to do so without factoring in her opinion.
The suit is nice, if a tad conservative; she would approve. Indeed, she's been on me for a good five years to buy a new suit. I just dearly wish she hadn't won the argument quite this way...