If you’re old enough to remember the album with all the vegetables on it then maybe you should be thinking about your upcoming demise. I was singing a super popular old Kenny Rogers tune at work which the pleasant young receptionist had never heard. That’s when I remembered I need to make a will. I’m sure she never heard of White Room or Sunshine of your Love. Kenny Rogers gets lots more airplay and may even have a show in Vegas but isn’t he the same era? Maybe Cream was more of a moment and Kenny Rogers is more of an industry? There may be some of Cream’s vinyl floating around. The individuals lived on, but the band lives only in spirit. Just like someone made a big salad with all the vegetables and then ate it. I have doubts about my spirit. I’m less of a salad and more of a pickled beet. Not an image I’ve ever seen used on an album cover and certainly an acquired taste. It’s probably not so healthy to dwell on chamberpots and death, especially on a humor blog, but it can’t be helped this time of year, besides, I need to keep typing to keep my hands warm.
I put these things off. Wills, insurance beneficiaries, who has the desire to worry about who gets what? I have no kids, no fortune but it seems responsible to clean up after one’s self. I guess some people plan more than others, wearing clean underwear and tidying their office each night before they leave. I just want to make sure I get recycled and don’t wind up in a cement vault preserved as the worst version of myself like Windows Vista. I want to be able to be part of something new, a nutrient fed to a new life form or perhaps part of the dust swirling around our dead planet.
I don’t think you’ll want me on the mantel. Remember I’ve always been very clumsy. I’ll probably fall all over your carpet. The Atlantic ocean might be a nice place to throw me. I like cold water. Don’t leave me in Alaska. It’s a little too cold and I don’t want to be stuck in that muck drowning unsuspecting tourists. Have them ship me book rate to New England in one of those books that’s hollowed out to hide your valuables. I’m don’t know about you but I haven’t planned how or where I’m going to die so I’m going to need a flexible plan. I just want to be able to die anywhere and have someone scrape up the body and toast it nicely. One doesn’t have to worry about this in a fire I suppose but perhaps that’s pushing my luck.
I could give my body to medicine but I’m not sure my body has any parts that work well enough anymore. Maybe there’s someone who needs a good set of ears or a very tiny breast, maybe a ligament or two which hasn’t snapped yet? I believe I’ve broken most of my toes in my hurry through life so I don’t think you’ll be wanting them. Then there are the small group of medical students in Anchorage who might be interested in cadavers. That should be rich since everybody seems to know everyone else here. I’m not even sure I support the medical field anymore. Are there doctors who work with poor people and are willing to continue to do so if I let you have my body? I doubt it. Can you imagine giving your body to someone who winds up being a cosmetic dentist or plastic surgeon? Might as well give my body to a major pharmaceutical company or a firearms manufacturer to test their products on the flesh.
Kind of gruesome? I ran a wee race the other day and thought I was going to have a heart attack. So many hills! So many people I would never catch up to even though we all started at the same time. But now I’m pulling ahead by getting my will done! I guess I like to put myself in the company of people like Eric Clapton. He’s thought about death a little and no one faults him. He probably was The best of Cream.