...there's a fight.
so used to proclaim my great-grandmother, according to my mother. it was certainly true enough about my family. my mother always made it clear she bitterly resented being written out of my great-grandfather's will, at the behest of my grandmother. my mother always made it clear to me that she expected "what's hers."
yesterday, the Great War of my childhood ended in a lawyer's office in farmington, not with a bang or a whimper, but with the whispered scratch of a pen. at approximately 2:22 in the afternoon, my grandmother signed the document that gives, devises and bequeathes to me, her only heir, everything she owns in the world.
between my power of attorney and the will, my place is cemented in the Great Succession. there will be no trusts, no administrators, no executors. in the words of walt whitman, and the mind of my mother, the victor ship comes in with object won.
it will be for me now to share whatever's left.
last night meg asked what this meant, if anything, for her and her sisters and brother.
it means you better be nice to me, i said, with an attempt at my grandmother's vinegar.
meg looked at me and laughed.
the queen has abdicated. i hope the heir-apparent outlives her.
and furthermore, the war must end... blessed be.
nanowrimo word count: 17,027/50,000