I wondered what it’d be like to enter Mom’s house the first time after she was gone. I’d picked up her ashes, and it was a melancholy feeling to bring them back into it. Three days before she died, when in hospice, she said, “I don’t think I’m gonna see my house again.” She didn’t say it sadly, or angrily, but stated it as a matter of fact. I replied I didn’t think so.

As I carried in the ashes, I thought nope, you’re not gonna see it, but you’re back, in the house that you lived in for 80 years and loved so much. I was scared I was going to reignite my nervous system and go into a bawling fit but I pulled myself together and put the box of ashes right beside Gerry’s in Mom’s closet.

In case you’re wondering, Mom promised she’d haunt me if I paid for an expensive urn as she wanted the ashes in a plain cardboard box, given she wants us to scatter them. I was expecting a dog fight at the funeral home, but the Nunes-Pottinger people were so nice they didn’t do any upselling and, on the contrary, provided a lot of additional services that are helpful.

And so, Christmas in Osoyoos was different, but still fun. Luke made a ghastly concoction of whiskey, Kahlua, egg nog, and coca cola and asked if I wanted one to which I said God no. I find there’s no way I can get around the Caesar at 4:00 PM. Like the character Karen Walker on the old Will and Grace show, I look at it and say, “Why are you so good to me?”

On Christmas Eve I slept in the house alone, albeit with the mutts, and I can report there was no ghost. Jan’s refused to enter mom’s house or garage since she died, which is really inconvenient for her and everyone else. She has to lug her bike up their steps now, and she’s also been unable to check the mail as the key’s in Mom’s house.

She will enter the house if other people are in it, so she brought over a basket of laundry, which has also been building up. Their washing machine’s been broken for months but we all know Luke’s never going to fix that, so she’s just walked over and used Mom’s. But not now. So before we sat down for Christmas Eve’s nice seafood dinner, Jan had to start the washing machine.

I don’t know how long this shunning of Mom’s house is going to continue as there are houseplants in there that will need water. Asking Luke to do that is like asking him to fix a broken washing machine; it’s not going to happen so why waste the energy? I think you can see how the next while is going to go between me, Mom’s house, and Luke.

You’ll find this adorable. I’m the executor of Mom’s will, but I don’t have a freaking clue as to what I’m to be doing. It’s kind of like I used to be in either the fruitcake or the vocational rehab business, wherein long reports would be due. In either case I’d sometimes do nothing at all and hope the elves would come and do it for me overnight. They never did and I’d have to work like a frightened idiot to make up for lost time.

I’ve sold approximately 60 copies of my memoir, Nuttier than a Fruitcake, and have 13 five-star reviews so I feel pretty good about that. I’m now going to map out my next book which will likely kill me as I have Mom’s journals and want to do a memoir about our turbulent and complicated relationship. Have you read Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs? Something like that.