(Something I wrote three months ago and forgot to post.)
As of this Mid-May, I will have spent 74 days of the last eight months at my mother's house in Florida. The house is in a very unfashionable part of St. Petersburg, technically unincorporated Pinellas County. It's not exactly Lealman, but I refer to it as Lealman Area as reference point in all of my online posts trying to give away or sell things in or attached to this house. This house is nowhere where anyone goes or wants to go.
I've been here enough to watch the empty lots across the street change from overgrown weed filled space where drug deals thrive to tidy little Habitat for Humanity homes. The neighbors know me. The meth tweakers across the street no longer glance at me when I walk to the corner market to buy lottery tickets and ice cream.
The last eight months found me getting very comfortable in a house I'm about to sell. This house and the stuff in it have a history, and I feel attached. Nobody ever told me about this aspect of wrapping up the affairs of a deceased parent.
