When my dad died last year we had him cremated and then we shared the ashes with those who wanted a bit of him. A few of his NY Giants buddies took some of his ashes with them when they went to the Super Bowl last year and poured them onto field at halftime. More of his ashes were sprinkled into the ocean since he loved to fish, and even more were sprinkled on a golf course.
Well, there was still some ashes left. And his wife was trying to give them to my sister to take with her back to Long Island where he grew up. Except that my sister didn't want the ashes, she found the idea morbid.
Anyway, during the countless retelling of the story my dad's ashes became known as the "Bag 'o Bob." At which point we started discussion what each of us would be called once we died. There was a "Jar 'o Jim", a "Decanter 'o Debby", a "Mug 'o Marge", etc. Eventually even K joined in the fun, "Keg 'o K".
Then we decided instead of being placed in a museum, we would just rent a unit at a Public Storage place and leave our remains in our aforementioned containers forever. Then centuries in the future someone is going to walk into that place and find nothing but various types of containers filled with ashes.
Yea, we're weird.
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2 comments:
Trunk o' Terri... there's room in here for everyone! Come on in!
"Jar o' Joe?", although I know you're not really Joe.
I'll be cremated too, but I don't have any specific requests for the ashes yet. Just hopefully not in a catbox somewhere.
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