Yesterday I dropped my wife at the airport to fly to Baltimore for the week.
I had lunch with some of my friends who live in Norman, Oklahoma: Anna, Anne, Michael and Thea. They seemed well.
On the drive home, I called my sister, just to chat. I don’t know how we got on the subject, but she reiterated her wishes for her remains after her death: for her ashes to be placed inside a hollow Barbie doll, taken to the French Quarter during Mardi Gras, and scattered in the gutter during a parade. Her husband Tracey understood everything about it except the gutter, but I get it: the gutter is the heart of Mardi Gras.
It got me thinking about what I would want done with my remains. If Abby outlives me, her wishes are all that matter. But if I outlive her, consider scattering my ashes in a fire ring at the Gallo Campground at Chaco Canyon, New Mexico in November. The idea of warming intrepid campers in that mysterious place is quite compelling to me. Barring that, throw my ashes on the fire when you burn the brush pile by the garden. I would be happy to be part of that, too.