Buried

By now most of you know my strong aversion to funerals.  All that sad boo-hoo, woe is me, why did my loved one have to die?  I dunno, because he/she was 102 and that’s how life works?  Yes, it is tragic when someone living a wonderful life has to go, and you will miss them to the ends of the earth.  No doubt about it, death sucks for the living. But funerals don’t seem to me to be a good way to celebrate someone’s life.

My friends know what to do with me when I push off for the next port.  Cremate me; stick me in a clear mason jar.  Put me on the ‘round table’ at my favorite shipyard, where everyone gathers.  On a pedestal of course, so I can see over the booze bottles.  Make sure there’s lobster and mussels.  Have a big, happy party.  Tell funny stories about me.  No crying!  I lived well, and it was my time, even if it wasn’t.   Then, at the end of the evening, (maybe a less intoxicated person should carry the jar to the water, because I would hate to spend eternity pasted to the blacktop), whoever’s drunkest gets to dump me out the end of the pier in my favorite harbor, so I can theoretically drift on the currents. 

The only problem with this plan is that all my friends are significantly older, so odds are right up there that I’ll be the last man standing.  Which leads to my new plan, as I rapidly approach that age where the early leavers are starting to bugger off with hardly a see ya later.  I don’t want to watch my friends kick off one by one, facing  all those sad, somber funerals that the remaining relatives will put on, leaving no one left to come to my party. 

So, as much as I love you all, sorry, but I’m going to have to replace you all with a bunch of 20 year olds.  

*this post is for 1dozenraw.  Enjoy the next port my friend.