Thursday, September 29, 2016


My husband & my mother-in-law used to read the obituaries in the paper every day.  For a while I did, too.  You’ve heard that old joke, I suppose.  It goes, “First thing I do every morning is to look at the obits.  If my name’s not there, I get on with my day.”  One day I looked at the obits & my name was there—right down to the somewhat unusual “c” in our last name!  It was someone else, of course, but I don’t check the obits anymore.

When my mother-in-law passed away, my husband & I went to select a coffin.  There were many metal ones, some  wooden ones & one that appeared to be styrofoam.  It looked like something that you would pack a body in so it would stay fresh for a picnic.  We got a metal one.

I’ve told my husband that I didn’t want a regular funeral, with everybody sad.  Instead, I told him that I wanted fireworks to celebrate my life.  He said that fireworks weren’t his thing & offered a compromise—he said he would be willing to stick sparklers in my behind.  Not acceptable!!  I might be willing to settle for Maxine’s idea:

This mortician published a calendar & a book.

These are from reddit.com:

This lady was arranging her husband's funeral. She was naturally a jittery, nervous sort and was really at wits' end trying to sort everything out. When the funeral director asked her about music, she said all she wanted was a male trio singing "Jingle bells". The director says, "Jingle bells?" Yes, she assured him, it was her husband's favorite song and he always said he wanted it at his funeral. So the funeral happens and at a specified moment the song begins. Whereupon the widow says, in a voice heard throughout the chapel, "Damn! I meant "Golden bells."
I once played the organ for the funeral of the departed head of the New England branch of Hell's Angels. You could hear the procession of a thousand Harley's a mile away. After they arrived I began playing preludes but began to wonder why incense was burning before the actual Mass began; a little latter I noticed some irregularities in my playing which became progressively worse. Curiously, the worse I got the less I cared. Only later did I realize that smoke from the narthex had drifted into the loft thus causing me to be stoned silly. 
Did a funeral for a member of a biker gang. He'd been killed probably mostly immediately when he hit the back of a tractor trailer at about 120 miles an hour. His entire body was broken. Embalmer put him back together pretty awesomely, given what he started with. His family decided to have an open casket. We've got him dressed in his leathers, in our chapel, with a biker preacher doing a sermon. After telling the crowd multiple times that we didn't allow alcohol in the chapel we gave up. The place reeked of leather-sweats and cheap cologne and cheaper alcohol. Get to the cemetery. Probably a hundred bikers in procession, and of course the law enforcement vans taking pictures. Casket is closed, they stick around to watch it be lowered. As soon as it's in the ground the pallbearers began to urinate on it. I look at the FD overseeing the service to see what we should do and he's just backing away from them. We retreat to the car and watch as they had more urinating on the casket, more drinking, drug use. Police broke it up, chased them off, arrested some. It was memorable.
I am a cremator, which means I just operate the equipment and maintain the warehouse. One very nice family was sending grandpa off. Just before I opened the door and sent him on his way, (the son asked if he could, I told him it was cool) the son lit up a joint and put it in dad's mouth.
My great aunt wouldn't shut up that they were burying grandpa in HER spot.

"Harold and Maude"
One of the funniest death movies ever:

Another fun funeral.
"Chuckles Bites the Dust":

I intend to live forever.  So far, so good----fishducky