My name might not be Roxy, but I am a stripper.

A couple of months ago, I was talking to the manager of my mother's bank and she asked me what I did for a living.  I replied with a sly smile "I'm a stripper".  Enjoying the initial look of shock and then strained polite interest on her face, I hastened to explain that I strip paint -  using heat and chemicals and brute force and tiny dental picks.

Writing about stripping made me want to strip some more, so I did.  Got out the chemicals this morning and started working again on the swinging, five panel door that adjoins my kitchen.  I started stripping it at least a year ago, and am only now getting back to it.  The kitchen has been a work in progress since we moved in 11 years ago.  Twice, we've been close to getting a new counter but held back at the last minute.  I'm pretty close again.  Got the hubby to Home Depot to look at counter top materials.  My heart wants soapstone, but it's very expensive to get on the west coast.  Second choice is carrera marble.  That is probably the more traditional choice for this location, but most contractors try to talk us out of it: "Too soft, stains easily".  But it's great for rolling out pastry.  (Note: I never roll out pastry.)

Regarding Roxy,  I started searching for her again.  I think I found her burial place:

It's a cemetery in Fairfield Illinois.

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=67945016

No surprises there, I knew the date and city of her death.  The odd thing is that there are no obvious family members listed at the cemetery.  No children who have died in infancy.  Not her parents. The rest of the family is buried at a different cemetery. Why is Roxy alone at 39?