I'm wondering when I die if anyone will have a wake or sit shiva or throw a mad party. I would hope a lot of people would come and tell stories about my exploits, mostly embellished.
I've told the children they are to take my ashes to Mt Rainier and scatter them after they've been on a long hike. My parents'a ashes are up there. When I scattered my mother's ashes, there was such a wind blowing, I got ashes in my mouth and eyes. Ashes are weird anyway. Dust and little chunks of bone, shards of bone. My brother was keeping my mother's ashes in the garage, on a shelf. I brought them back with me on the plane.
I once carried a stuffed great horned owl on the plane with me. I stashed it under the seat. It was my father's and my older brother wanted it to put over his bar back home. I couldn't have that. I took it apart and gave away the pieces; talons and head and wings and tail feathers. All over the place now, owl feathers.
Yesterday I saw two grouse? in the park. Quail? Well, they didn't have the feather topknot thing. Felix spotted them and alerted me. I was listening to the Wailin Jennies at the time. I told my office manager they were my new favorite band and she went into a long story about Waylon Jennings. Close, so very close. See for yourself:
Ok, not the same at all. I don't have a single cowboy hat. Not one.