Lives Reduced to Piles of Paperwork

No movies this weekend. I wrote while DH and his sisters chipped away at the gargantuan pile of belongings in their parents' house. The stuff Nana and Papa valued were not things that can be sold or kept forever.

There were everyone's grade cards and pictures. DH's stats from when he played Little League Baseball fifty years ago. Heck, not even their pastor wanted the church accounting records from the '60's and '70's.

Piles of books, ranging from FIL's Korean War army manual to the romantic suspenses I purchased and had signed by the author for MIL. Journals. Boxes of personal memorabilia belonging to MIL's mother. Boxes of costume jewelry hidden in weird places.

DH and the siblings keep asking me what I think or would I like something. I've only laid claim to FIL's industrial-level paper shredder and his scanner for copies in case DH and I get audited by the IRS.

Because I'm not leaving a similar mess of disintegrating paper, dead bugs, and dust for GK when I croak.