the sordid business of wrapping up my mother’s affairs

I just recorded a new outgoing message for my mother’s answering machine.

“Hello! You have reached the home of Marie-Jeanne Trauth, who has recently departed to that mysterious country from whose bosom no traveller returns. If you’re calling about a business matter other than rent or utilities, the window for that discussion has, sadly, passed. Otherwise please leave a message.”

I like to think she would have given me a stern look, then giggled.