Emptying the office closet . . .

. . . which contained hundreds of dollars worth of . . .

. . . models: ships, trains, automobiles.
None put together. All the paints and brushes and glues, too.

Now the Assistance League of Yuma will sell them and
they'll be put together and appreciated.
(The CDs are from the living room; I have yet to go through them.)

Having lived my life with the threat of physical harm to my Mom and myself,
I wondered if I would find any weapons in the house . . .

Realize, of course, that the tile these guns are lying on is 12" square.
I threw these away.

And one of the delightful items I found is this large photo of my Mom,
at a very (VERY) young age . . .

It was just crammed in the closet;
no protective envelope or anything else to keep it from harm.

On 19 May, at 6 a.m., caretaker Ken LeRoy, his wife Linda Lott & I . . .

. . . dispersed my Dad's ashes into the Colorado River
from the Old Yuma Bridge.

He often kayaked on the Colorado River;
two weekends previously, the dams along the river were opened
so that a surge would raise the river's level and
flow all the way to the Sea of Cortez in México and
then into the Pacific Ocean. Very apropos, I thought.

Then we adjourned to Brownie's Café for a funeral breakfast.