I managed to empty five boxes today from the storage bin. Four contain mostly things to toss and one has a tablecloth I'll give to one of my late partner's nieces or nephews. Why these things were even in the storage bin is a mystery to me. Like so many people, he probably intended to go through these boxes, but didn't ever find the time. Now it's my job.
There's more work to do with the IRS because there's a problem with his last tax return. And whom am I, the IRS asks. So, I must fax them the death certificate and certificate of authority received when the will was probated. It's not difficult work, but it's time and there don't seem to be enough hours for work, pleasure, and the estate.
As of today I'm caught up reconciling all bank and investment account statements and I've paid all bills--a rare feeling of being caught up at least in this area. This becomes important during weeks like this one when I have to get on a plane. If something happens to me at least the family will find most things done that could be done before I left.
There's one find in the boxes that's put a smile on my face: the yearbook from his freshman year in high school. Cute even then.
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