Now there’s procrastination and then there’s my brand of procrastination. Here’s what I mean: my Dad died almost two years ago and shortly after the funeral my two siblings and I spent a brief and miserable evening sorting out his ‘things’. He was monklike in his approach to possessions and so there was very little to distribute and dispose of really (a seriously large and diverse collection of rosary beads being the exception). After carefully selecting some ‘keepsakes’ to be distributed to his grandchildren (a decision made by parents whether said grandchildren want the keepsakes or not), most of what he carefully gathered and guarded over his 91 years on planet Earth was, not to put too fine a point on it, rubbish. So where’s the procrastionation in that? I hear you ask, although I didn’t mean…