((nora))

I wouldn't send it to her. Gramma gave it to you and that's where it belongs. You live in New Orleans. There is punch DEMANDING to be bowled!

When my great-grandmother died, my great-uncle (her eldest son and my grandfather's brother) pretty much just opened the house and said, "Take what you want. What's still here when the house sells gets pitched."

I really love what they do in Cryptonomicon, which is to place everything according to the axes of monetary value and emotional value and then dividing it all up equally.

{{Nora}}

I really love what they do in Cryptonomicon, which is to place everything according to the axes of monetary value and emotional value and then dividing it all up equally.

There's actually an algorithm for doing that, where each person says how much he or she thinks each thing is worth, and the things get divided up so that, if, say, there are five people, then each person gets at least 1/5 of the estate according to his or her own appraisals of the value, which might be more or less than what everybody else thought each thing was worth.

Oof, I just drafted a nasty email but didn't send it. I'm not ready to deal with this right now.

Nasty draft:

Sure, whatever. This isn't something I spirited out in the dead of night, FYI, it was something grandma gave me (unsolicited, mind you) when she moved out of the Hyde Road house- seven yeas ago- when everyone had input into the whole Grandma's possessions process. She loved seeing it our back bay window being loved and admired, it would catch the light of the afternoon sun, and it would sparkle and I'd think about Grandma. The insinuation that Grandma was addleminded when she gave it to me, or something, is pretty hurtful. I'm sure that you didn't mean it that way, but it came off that way.

Also, feel free to address questions to me directly, whether they be about Grandma's stuff or why I moved to New Orleans.

(Uncle), let me know how I should charge the shipping directly to the estate, so that it would, in fact, be at no cost to me (as referenced below).

It would be wonderful if you could see your way clear to trading the punch bowl for the hope chest, because it's something I'd love to have and would mean so much to me. I understand if you don't want to do that though.

Got it out of my system at least.

That's the nasty version, Nora? Wow. It's nicer than my super-nice version would be.

There are things of my father's and mother's that I'd have liked, including holdovers from previous relatives that were the house. But I wasn't there when the house was emptied, wasn't going to be able to be, so I had no dog in that hunt. The biggest thing, my father's class ring, came to me in the end.

The wheel, it turns.

That's the nasty version, Nora? Wow. It's nicer than my super-nice version would be.

Seriously. That's the least nasty nasty letter I have ever read. As a nasty letter-writer, Nora, you are an abject failure.

Incidentally, it's a beautiful and moving letter and should cause her to feel sick in the pit of her stomach the next time she looks in the mirror. Don't make it one bit nicer, just send it as is.

I admire your abject failure at nastiness, Nora. May I, one day, be as nasty as you are.

My letter? WOuld have read like this:

What up, cuz?

She gave it to me. Get over it. Your hair is stupid. And I live in New Orleans because it is awesome and so am I. You would never get on here.

Furthermore, hookers and blow, bitch. Hookers and blow.

Signed, Awesome Nora What Has the Punchbowl

Yeah, Nora, I don't get why you're giving it back if your grandma gave it to you.