Scrambling for the chicken

We were having breakfast with some of the grands when one asked if she could have my chicken when I die.

The chicken is not a live chicken, but a ceramic chicken I’ve had since we were first married and use for serving scrambled eggs.

I said she can have the chicken, but she’ll have to make her own scrambled eggs.

Then I left the table and looked in a mirror to see if I should have spent more time on hair and makeup.


The thought of dying was not on my mind today; nor was the thought of who should have the chicken – or that anyone would want it, for that matter.

Who knows how their minds work. I’m not entirely certain how my own mind works.

I guess this is a new stage of life I didn’t see coming—the “Hey, Can I Have That When You’re Dead?” stage of life.

Years ago, my mom and dad had one of my brother’s boys with them when they were going to a cemetery to pay off their burial plots. They explained the situation to the little guy who was quiet for a moment, then said, “Grandma, when you die, can I have your credit cards?”

Smart, that one. Very smart.

I was glad someone wants the chicken because in addition to the new “Hey, Can I Have That . . .” stage of life, I’m also in a minimalist stage of life.

Like so many others, I purged closets and drawers during the pandemic and am now unable to stop.

Waffle iron that chews up waffles? Gone.

Yoga mat? Forget about it.

Panini Press? Returned to the gifter.

High heels that cause foot pain? Nice knowing you.

Baby quilts made by my mother? Linen closet, top shelf, going nowhere.

I am constantly looking for big things and small things, anything really, to recycle, donate or trash. It’s a near obsession, one so bad that the husband claims he is afraid to fall asleep on the couch for more than 10 minutes.

He’s safe. There’s no way I could lift him.

There is some comfort knowing that others may want some of the things we still hold onto. Sometimes, if I receive an especially nice gift, one of the girls will yell, “Post-it!” This means she wants a Post-it to write her name on and stick to the item.

A friend who handles estate auctions is adamant that a Post-it will not hold up in court. I’ve told the girls this and they say they’re not going to court; they plan on using the “possession is nine-tenths of the law” rule.

They’re all talk and no Post-its.

Today I am happy knowing that my chicken will one day have a good home and that no one has asked for my credit cards.


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