Today marks 15 years that my grandfather made his transition to non physical.

If you’re rolling your eyes like TC right about now, I will spare you the non physical bs — today marks 15 years that my grandfather died.

It is also Bastille Day. I have a hell of a lot of great Bastille Day memories.

So I’m throwing in a shout out to all my beloved Frenchies. Je vous aime. Also if you have a villa in the South of France that you need someone to house sit … I’m your girl. And FoH’s your guy. We’re kinda a package deal.

Given that TC has yet to figure out what he wants to do with the remainder of my grandfather, so most of him still sits in his closet. He finds it oddly comforting. The Littles find it just plain odd.

In fact, Littlest M has been telling everyone today, guess what! Pop’s in Opa’s closet! And HE’S DEAD!

Needless to say, this has caused mass confusion. Possibly some panic.

I’ve been wondering today … how many of us have our loved ones stashed away in closets or perhaps proudly on display on chests and mantles?

And … where do I want to go when I decide to kick it and go hang out on the other side? I certainly don’t want any kind of big ceremony. Even in death I won’t enjoy being the center of attention and I’m much too practical to shell out for some casket that is going to seal me up for eternity.

No, no, People. Ashes to ashes here. Dust to dust. Right? See, I knew I could recall something of The Bible.