I’m fifty now. Half a century. Oddly, turning fifty did not bother me. I got depressed as hell when I turned forty, but not at fifty. I suppose that means I’m smart enough to understand that being fifty years old beats the hell out of the alternative. I am, however, conscious of the alternative, so like it or not, I’ve given some thought to what I want to become of my remains after I die.
I know for sure I want to be cremated. I have no desire to have my blood replaced with embalming fluid and then put in a casket and concrete vault. I am made of the stuff of Earth, and I want my body to go back whence it came. Cremation hastens the process to be sure, but with cremation, I won’t have my body taking up any real estate.
What then, do we do with the ashes? My Master’s degree is from West Virginia University, and everyone who’s ever been associated with the U knows we hate Pitt. Also known as the University of Pittsburgh, or more properly, that communist, God-hating school in Oakland.
The plan is to have my ashes scattered from an aircraft flying over Mountaineer Field in beautiful Morgantown, West Virginia. It should be done while the Mountaineers are playing Pitt, winning, of course.
Ideally, the person dumping my ashes out of the aircraft will be able to judge the wind such that the ashes are carried to the section where the Pitt fans are seated. That way I’ll know that a little part of me is getting in some Pitt fan’s eye.
Let’s Go Mountaineers!
