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[magistra]

Have a vodka-filled donut while you're at it.  And don't you owe me s'mores?

Ablewasi, any particular reason you're feeling introspective?  You seem a bit melancholy.

[crazybatlady]

Conjugate, either you need to stop drinking, or start.

Anyone else ever inherit, or perhaps find at a yard sale or the like, old photos?  Where the subjects can no longer be identified?  It's so sad -- millennia of no photography, and now we have a method of memorializing what people truly looked like -- what they wore, whom they knew, what they did -- and so often all that is lost because they didn't have descendants, or worse, no descendants who cared.  I don't know why, but it really hits me.  Something about looking into their faces.  You know you need to throw the photos out -- they're useless -- but you just can't.

On Preview: as always, CBL rules!  All hail the CBL!

Those photos also make me sad. Have you considered gluing them to a tabletop or something, under glass? Cutting out the photos and retaining whatever about them that's special and making a collage? Just an idea. I'm crazy tired. =)

And I love my new signature line! Thanks, Magistra!

cbl

[magistra]

Oooh, I made a sig line!  Thank you!  (And thank you for ruling.)  (And get some sleep.)

[conjugate]

Have a vodka-filled donut while you're at it.  And don't you owe me s'mores?

Ablewasi, any particular reason you're feeling introspective?  You seem a bit melancholy.

Very well, s'mores it is.  Hang on while I prepare the graham crackers.

▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒ ▒

That's a dozen, so that should be enough.  The chocolate bars:

▓ ▓ ▓ ▓ ▓ ▓

And a few marshmallows:   ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Okay, then, are we good?

I'll stick with the Gin and Tonic.  And, concerning photos, I'll point out that some antique stores sell tintypes.  These show really old-style pictures.  Usually they are sold, not for sentimental value, (nobody remembers who they were) but because, well, tintypes are cool.

[terpsichore]

When my mother died, she had a small cross pin.  It was precious to her. It signified her relationship to a fellowship that I do not share.  She wanted it to be buried with her. I tried to find it.  I couldn't.
She was buried. Without it.  I found it later.  I have it.  It is hers. Not mine.

What now?

!a

You cherish the pin as a memento of your mother. Pass along to a future generation if you wish, or not.

[king_ghidorah]

I only think about dying (relatively) young.

If I get hit by a bus tomorrow my dying thought will probably be -

"Damn!  I could have kept smoking!"

or

"Ha!  Now I die and my student loans die with me!"

I will come back and visit my dogs and SO as a friendly ghost.

[punchnpie]

"Ha!  Now I die and my student loans die with me!"

You aren't the only one who thinks about this!

Having had to clean up behind a few dead relatives, I try to go through my stuff and throw away things I don't want my son to have to deal with. Maybe morbid, but I'd hate to leave a mess for someone else to clean up. Perhaps by time I really get into my dotage, I'll be down to a laptop, bed, desk and chair. Of course, there will be the 5 month supply of frozen soup in the fridge, but they can eat that at the wake.

[spork]

As the economists say:  in the long run, we are all dead.

[lassboni]

The ghouls are welcome to whatever they'd like, seeing as I stole or got hand-me-downs of everything anyway.

Except the album of hair strands (see the "What Do You Collect" thread for more details)--wish they could see their final resting place with me caressing clutching them.

[sikora]

If I were to die, I would be ashamed because people would find out 1) how messy my car and room are, and 2) that most of my underwear is worn out and frazzled.

[zharkov]

As the economists say:  in the long run, we are all dead.

That was John Maynard Keynes, actually, in response to classical economists who claimed that the market will clear in the long run, and that "Keynesian" interventions are thus not required.

In my "rural ramblings," a couple of weeks ago, I found my great-great grandfather's grave, with veteran's headstone listing his unit, GAR holder and flag.  He was in the Civil War, wounded at the Wilderness, but lived for 45 years after that.

I hoped I honored his memory by finding and visiting his grave; at least that was my intention.

[octoprof]

As others have noted elsewhere, Randy Pausch died. If you haven't seen his last lecture, you really should: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo. Death doesn't have to be the final shame at all.

My dear ablewasi, your mother already has the pin that matters. So what do you need to do to make your heart feel it's right? That's what needs to be done.

As for those boxes of crap, I have one box labeled "for fun when I'm dead" (I'm not kidding) and it's full of those embarrassing things along with their stories. For example, the crazy rainbow hippie hat comes complete with tales from the Grateful Dead tour; the Greekish coaster with a threesome on it is accompanied with a comical story of a strange man, a bar, a pair of 22-year old American tourists, and a language barrier....

Anyway, I guess I want to say LIVE. Revel in it all, the great and the gross. When I die, I hope to say it's been fun.

[And I'm back....]

cbl

crazybatlady is back!
crazybatlady is back!
crazybatlady is back!

yeehaw!

[grasshopper]

As for those boxes of crap, I have one box labeled "for fun when I'm dead" (I'm not kidding) and it's full of those embarrassing things along with their stories. For example, the crazy rainbow hippie hat comes complete with tales from the Grateful Dead tour; the Greekish coaster with a threesome on it is accompanied with a comical story of a strange man, a bar, a pair of 22-year old American tourists, and a language barrier....

I'm more thinking more about the diaries, the unsent letters, the photographs. The horrible, embarrassing stuff about me that I don't tell anybody. The mean, hateful things I think. The insipid insecurities that will be revealed. Not junk like a hippie hat, but the really important stuff.

[dr_dre]

When my mother passed, we had her cremated, as was her longstanding wish (over my Catholic grandmother's objections). I asked my teenaged brother (who lived near her) if she had wanted anything special done with her ashes. He said no. I had a tattoo done and had the artist add a bit of the ash to the ink. Then we rented a van and took my dad and a bunch of my brother's friends out to the desert outside Los Angeles. We camped out overnight, got very drunk, argued, and then, in the morning, scattered the ashes to the desert winds while playing music she liked--Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.

A couple of days later, my brother and his friends recalled that she had wanted her ashes divided into sections, and placed into bags to give to various folks also into magick. It was like a TV sketch--picture nerdy sister me saying, "You remember this NOW?" I figure if she had been very serious about her plan, she would have written it down or told someone who was not a pothead.

The end.

[lassboni]

When my mother passed, we had her cremated, as was her longstanding wish (over my Catholic grandmother's objections). I asked my teenaged brother (who lived near her) if she had wanted anything special done with her ashes. He said no. I had a tattoo done and had the artist add a bit of the ash to the ink. Then we rented a van and took my dad and a bunch of my brother's friends out to the desert outside Los Angeles. We camped out overnight, got very drunk, argued, and then, in the morning, scattered the ashes to the desert winds while playing music she liked--Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.

A couple of days later, my brother and his friends recalled that she had wanted her ashes divided into sections, and placed into bags to give to various folks also into magick. It was like a TV sketch--picture nerdy sister me saying, "You remember this NOW?" I figure if she had been very serious about her plan, she would have written it down or told someone who was not a pothead.

The end.

Yet another blurb for the perniciousness of drug use.