Buried or Cremated and what's that on the bottom of my shoe?

At 51, some might think that age is too young to have any plans about death and what to do with the package when the contents are gone. You might think that topic is too sad, too gloomy to think about now. Frankly, I kind of like thinking about it because it won't be my money or time to figure it out. It'll be the collective 'yours.' One of the last great 'Deal With It' moments anyone could have.

I'm pretty keen on the idea that it really will not make any difference to me. I won't be there and the vessel I had been riding in for decades will need to be disposed of because, frankly, if you keep it, it will start to smell, like week old potato salad. It doesn't make any sense to bury me, although my dogs will bury their chew bones, Joni and I get them, in the couch (I get the feeling my dogs don't like the taste of dirt, especially on their food or food-like substances so, hence, the couch) so burial makes sense. But the cremation, now that's economy in a little silver dish.

Joni and I took the kids to D.C. once and watched the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unknowns. What a peaceful place, Arlington. I liked it. I know as sure as I'm sitting here that I don't deserve to be there, although I did take the oath twice in my lifetime, those men and women earned that trip.

Then I saw Joe Louis' headstone at the bottom of the hill just down from the Unknowns. 'Wait a minute little pony. What's he doing here?'

Nope, not taking anything away from anyone. Sure, there are special people there. Someone made the decision to install some non-warrior types there because of their deeds and services in their civilian lives. Okay, I get that. I still haven't earned a spot there.

Then, it occurred to me, as we walked over a small stream that cuts through the property, I could be cremated and thrown into the stream and wind up being fertilizer for the flowers and plants giving peace to those marked there. Hey, that's not a bad idea! I didn't earn a plot, but I could fertilize the plots, kind of a servant thing, honoring all of those that my little microbes could sprout flowers for.

Why not?

Look, its not morbid. I'm not saying you throw the whole carcass in the stream. That would be gross and probably block the water flow. You got to do something with the casing when you're done living. I bet most of you throw your coffee grounds out in the trash instead of tossing them into the flower bed, huh. How many of you have a compost pit in your back yard? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now that would be gross if my kids just kicked me to the pile of yard clippings and leaves in the corner of the back yard. They would come out and turn the pile once a week and see old dad's frame out there and I think it would cause some distress, as well as some light vomiting and or dry-heaving. But this way, all they would have to do is sneak me in via a brown paper bag. They could pretend to be eating peanut butter and jelly's among the New Hampshire's 3rd Regiment of horse soldiers from Shiloh and tip the bag over and there ya go, Daddy's working again, serving the Thin Line!!

Just think about it before you go all Calypso on it. After a while, it kind of grows on ya. Maybe, the idea of your old friend here causing a flower or two to bloom at the foot of the Unknowns, among the fallen sons and daughters will bring a smile to your face.

Besides, as you walk there, moving among the markers, looking at the names and years etched in the marble, you'll smile. A little bit of me will be stuck on the bottom of your shoe.