constructing makeshift assemblages

So yesterday, my whole family, including my Grandpa and Grandma, loaded up an entire shopping cart to the brim with small single canisters of garlic + onion roasted peanuts--77 of them (4 up, 4 across, 4 high, an extra row of 3 across 4 high, and a loner for scanning at the register)--because at Bed Bath & Beyond their after New Year's Clearance of their overstocked inventory sold each, dirt cheap, to treasure hunters like all of us. It was the highlight (with not a tinge of scorn) of my three-day return trip home to spend with my family and as I mentioned, grandparents, whom I rarely see, and only make trips out here to the US on off years, this time for months to extend their visas, and for the weather; and they are getting old. It was humorous and satisfying, we bantered with the cashier pushing the wide load up to his aisle, my grandfather laughed, chuckled what are you going to do with all those peanuts! He laughs much less now, this time, his humour has stumped just like the gracefulness of his walk has, it used to be always, as far as I could remember, though I learned he during his years as a father in my dad's upbringing was a stern seriousness and forceful anger not to be reckoned with, had the heartiest always laugh with his grandchildren, friendly and warm, to the touch, positive, always moving, always constructing makeshift assemblages for the garden peppers and plants, and yard projects; always makeshift, never prepackaged, from which we've all inherited resourcefulness.

This morning, as my dad drove me to the airport and my grandma sat quiet in the backseat, he told me about his recent happenings, changes, goals, and said this to me,
Religion, to me,
is a sort of continuity
after you die, what's
after... Bed, Bath,
Beyond!,
and he laughed.