The law may not allow me to actually do that, but that’s what my final wishes are. There, I said it.
For the longest time I’ve assumed that Marty (my husband) would be the first to go. I mean, that’s still the plan, but things don’t always go according to plan. He is three years older than me and men usually go first. And let’s face it, anyone who knows us knows that the world is not safe with him here unsupervised. And no one is stepping up to say that they’ll watch him if I happen to go first. It’s too big a job.
Our dog, Bodie is a whole different story. Everyone wants him. So if we go in some fiery car crash together I have no worries about the dog. Not about Bodie, anyway. Riley is another matter. He is a sweet boy, but dumb as a stump and people are gonna be less excited about taking him – but they will if he is part of the package with Bodie. I have a large life insurance policy and that goes with the dogs for their care if Marty and I check out together.
The plan for Marty to go first includes the disposal of remains, of course. The plan is to have him freeze dried. It’s cheaper than taxidermy, I hear. We have a deck on the back of the mobile home that he loves so if I put marine varnish on him I can let him be out on his beloved deck, near the grill. And there will be a strip of Velcro on the top of his head so his hats can be seasonally changed. The varnish will be good in case birds poop on him and I have to hose him off. Just my way of keeping him around a while longer.
For me, personally, I want to be cremated. I also want a big memorial service with lots of people telling funny stories and laughing. I don’t want anyone crying over me – I’ve had an amazing life (which hopefully still has lots of adventures left in it!) and I know where I’m going after I leave here. I want someone standing in the back dressed as the grim reaper, just to freak people out. And a U-Haul following an empty hearse all around town just so people can go home and say, “You’ll never guess what I saw today – maybe you CAN take it with you!”
And then… scatter my ashes on Richard Dean Anderson. Restraining orders only apply to the living!