This morning...I woke up a burrito. You know...when you wrap the blankets around you and roll to the left...roll to the right...twist and shout...and then the dog can lick you on the face as much as he wants to because your arms are unceremoniously clamped to your side...
One of those mornings...
But some of it is my new quilt. My birthday quilt that my Mommy made for me and finished six months 'better late than never' late.
It's great. My quilt. Because my Mommy made it...and it's purple...and it's the perfect weight for a summer blanket...
Mom has been wanting to quilt forever. But work has pretty much prevented her from putting her time into it. She seems to have just about enough focus to do one sort of "project" thing at a time...and work was taking up all of her energy. So now...quilts. She made me a weird sort of lap quilt covered in sailboats and fish...and now my purple quilt. And later this month...she's taking a class in T-shirt quilts...and called me with the long list of all the Snoopy T-shirts of mine that she's had saved....since I was like in the eighth grade.
Scary...what your Mommy will save of yours....
But I wonder what she must have thought every time she moved the 40 or so T-shirts she'd been saving for that rainy day where I magically wanted them again. Wanted something that she'd done for me. It has to suck...being a parent. For so many years you're the center of another human being's world...and then...you're like yesterday's newspaper.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
To box or not to box...
My mother’s life insurance policy came up for renewal…or review…or whatever. It’s a 14k policy. If she cashes it in now…she’ll get 7k. She doesn’t want to leave me with funeral expenses. I ask…if I can’t bury my own mother…who am I going to bury? Just pre-pay for whatever you really want…and I’ll arrange with church for everything else.
So…that brought about the whole discussion of what she wanted. Cremated…put on her brother Melvin’s grave…no embalming. And no viewing…just a memorial service.
Sounds good to me.
I have this whole horror at the idea of rotting underground. And an equally strong horror of embalming. My Grandmother was buried whole…but not embalmed…in an “eco” coffin and liner. So she’ll return to the earth. Which is what we’re supposed to do. But sometimes I find myself morbidly wondering what she must look like now. Liquid? Solid? Mushy? I’ve seen photos of corpses before…and…well…
I’m all for cremation.
I was surprised how fine and white my dog Linus’s cremains were. I wanted to see them at least once before they went into his little photo holder urn/box thing. It was a surprisingly heavy squarish plastic packet of grey powder. My fuzzy dog…in a little box. I have to say…I can’t remember crying harder than when Tim returned from Iowa with the little plastic box that they give you. Last time I’d held my dog…he was warm and soft and alive. Then…box.
So…that left me wondering what I wanted? First…donate whatever can be donated. Eyeballs…liver…hair…really…if I go to God bald and missing my heart and kidneys…I’m all down with that. Then…no embalming fluid. C’mon…it’s just GROSS for one…and the idea that someone can dig me up in 100 years and poke around at me. Just…well…no. It’s my body…and I don’t want to be someone’s stinky science project a century from now.
Then…memorial service. Preferably some sort of picnic thing where everyone can drink and enjoy themselves. Like what I did for Linus. Say something. Shake my urn for good luck. Donate to charity in lieu of flowers. Have a few hot dogs. Most of all…I don’t want anyone to spend a whole lot of money on a funeral home. It will NOT be what I wanted. Ever. Not that I don’t like funeral homes…or think less of people who have the “traditional American funeral” but…well…if you’re going to do that….lay me out on the couch with my favorite afghan and come on by the house and have an “old-fashioned American funeral.”
Then…I might as well hang out with Mom and Grandma Mickey. There will be a space on Grandma Mickey’s grave for an urn. Just put a few teaspoons of my dogs in with me…and put a tiny marker for anyone who feels the need to visit…name…dates…and that’s really it. Cause in 50 years…who will visit? My non-existent Grandchildren? Nobody will visit. And in some ways…it’s sad that after I’m gone…there’s nobody to visit Mom…or Grandma…or Melvin…or Andrew and Martha…my Great Grandparents.
So…that brought about the whole discussion of what she wanted. Cremated…put on her brother Melvin’s grave…no embalming. And no viewing…just a memorial service.
Sounds good to me.
I have this whole horror at the idea of rotting underground. And an equally strong horror of embalming. My Grandmother was buried whole…but not embalmed…in an “eco” coffin and liner. So she’ll return to the earth. Which is what we’re supposed to do. But sometimes I find myself morbidly wondering what she must look like now. Liquid? Solid? Mushy? I’ve seen photos of corpses before…and…well…
I’m all for cremation.
I was surprised how fine and white my dog Linus’s cremains were. I wanted to see them at least once before they went into his little photo holder urn/box thing. It was a surprisingly heavy squarish plastic packet of grey powder. My fuzzy dog…in a little box. I have to say…I can’t remember crying harder than when Tim returned from Iowa with the little plastic box that they give you. Last time I’d held my dog…he was warm and soft and alive. Then…box.
So…that left me wondering what I wanted? First…donate whatever can be donated. Eyeballs…liver…hair…really…if I go to God bald and missing my heart and kidneys…I’m all down with that. Then…no embalming fluid. C’mon…it’s just GROSS for one…and the idea that someone can dig me up in 100 years and poke around at me. Just…well…no. It’s my body…and I don’t want to be someone’s stinky science project a century from now.
Then…memorial service. Preferably some sort of picnic thing where everyone can drink and enjoy themselves. Like what I did for Linus. Say something. Shake my urn for good luck. Donate to charity in lieu of flowers. Have a few hot dogs. Most of all…I don’t want anyone to spend a whole lot of money on a funeral home. It will NOT be what I wanted. Ever. Not that I don’t like funeral homes…or think less of people who have the “traditional American funeral” but…well…if you’re going to do that….lay me out on the couch with my favorite afghan and come on by the house and have an “old-fashioned American funeral.”
Then…I might as well hang out with Mom and Grandma Mickey. There will be a space on Grandma Mickey’s grave for an urn. Just put a few teaspoons of my dogs in with me…and put a tiny marker for anyone who feels the need to visit…name…dates…and that’s really it. Cause in 50 years…who will visit? My non-existent Grandchildren? Nobody will visit. And in some ways…it’s sad that after I’m gone…there’s nobody to visit Mom…or Grandma…or Melvin…or Andrew and Martha…my Great Grandparents.
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