An ending

I'm going to New York this weekend to help Ken move my foster father Ray out of his apartment. They're flying off to sunny California on Monday evening. There's an apartment rented there, a couple of blocks away from Ken's. He sent me pictures of it, and of the playground across the street and of the hills off in the distance.

Ken does not disappoint over the phone: "I saw the listing on Craigslist on, let me see, the autumn equinox, and by the next full moon I had the keys!"

They're planning to leave most of Ray's stuff at the apartment. No rent was paid for October; they'll send the keys back, but without a forwarding address. It's hard to believe that the landlord will do anything other than jump for joy: it's on the border of the Village and Chelsea and hasn't changed occupant since 1977. (Well, aside from my moving out in 1980.)

My duties will include making sense of any paperwork I can find -- bills, bank statements, figuring out who Ray's doctors are and how to get his records sent on -- and deciding which photographs must be destroyed, and to carry out the destruction.

I'll stay out in Weatherwood at Nanna's.

Comments

[Jody]

I am irrationally intrigued by the thought of photographic destruction. I hope you find a few to keep, too. And I'm laughing at the thought of that landlord, and the jump in the rent she or he is about to get.

Safe journeys.

[Chris]

peace be with you.