Probably never.

Tonight my aunt and I took the last set of keys and a final look at my grandmother's house before it's new tennant moves in tomorrow.  Escrow papers were signed today. After fifteen minutes of aimlessly wandering room from room, remembering what furniture went where, and summoning my grandmother's image, tears were shed and Dede remembered that, while keys aren't being turned over until tomorrow, papers were signed today...and we are breaking and entering. oops.

We imagine that Mr. New Tennant is recently divorced and teetering on 56 or 57, as 55 is the bottom line limit for this particular prefab community. (n.b. If you are under 55 do not even think about hitting the pool before noon - you are not allowed.) He also offered a hundred fifty bucks for the contents of the kitchen cabinets. Oh, great! We don't have to pack that and sell it off at a garage sale. You want furniture too!? That's great. We'll just tack it on to the price of the house. 

There are a number of unsavory things that must be done after a death. I am learning about a few of them from my aunt, who is learning about all of them. 

After our look around for hidden closure, we started to notice that Mr. New Tennant had started moving in. There were food reserves everywhere; 12 cans of red beans, 12 cans of green beans, 5 jars of peanut butter, economy pack of unsalted saltines, economy pack of unsalted wheat thins, barbeque tongs, and brand new inthebox silverware. 

Newly divorced. And interested in camping. 

After a bit more stalling, trying to stretch more tears out of the paneling of the empty prefab trailer, we knew that it was just the place where she kept her stuff - it holds no secret umbilical cord. 

As the really really old neighbor docked her oldsmobile in the carport, the headlights reminded us that were were breaking and entering.  So we left and drove home, joking and chatting about when this will suck less.