Michael said he read my book.

     “I settled down with it in a lounge chair on the patio . . .

     It was a sunny, Saturday afternoon, not too humid. So, I slipped into my typical weekend attire of shorts and a tank top (author’s note: that’s always a nice look), and took your book outside. Kicked back and stretched out, I read and read and read as the time flew.

     Jo, I got so engrossed in your book—some of the parts are really funny—that I read Good to Go cover to cover and got one heckuva sunburn! My wife says your book ought to come with sunscreen.”

Judging from the following quote, it seems that Carlin at least gave the end of his life some consideration.

“I’m getting old. And it’s OK, because thanks to our fear of death in this country, I won’t have to die–I’ll ‘pass away.’ Or I’ll ‘expire,’ like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital, they’ll call it a ‘terminal episode.’ ”

-George Carlin, who passed away June 22, 2008

He was so much more than “7 Words” and “Stuff.” (Even when he talked  about the big bye-bye, he made us laugh.)

A personal effects memorandum is a list of personal items with specific details about who will receive them after you are gone. (Why, you could even put one together right now, date it and staple it to your will; and you would be “good to go” on that front!)

After driving onto a highway recently with my purse on top of my car, I made out just such a list (well, sort of) :

Jo’s Purse-onal Effects Memorandum

• pen and pencil set
• lipsticks
• business card holder
• cloisonne mirror in velvet sack
• billfold with not much cash, thankfully
• hand lotion
• pack of gum
• cell phone*
• small spiral notebook

All of the above items, and whatever other non-titled property is or was included in my handbag, I bequeath to whomever found my purse on the side of the road. Although it would be nice if you would at least put the little notebook in the mail to me, it is my wish that you enjoy these things to the fullest and put them to good use.

*While it is true that I have begun a new life with a different purse and its contents, I am still waiting for my old purse to call. Hello?

UPDATE

July 6, 2008. My purse called! Actually, it was Bill with the state department of transportation who called to say his guys found the tattered remains of my pocketbook in the ditch next to the interstate not far from where I drove off with it on top of my car. Surviving contents were discovered in the same proximity across a nearby grassy expanse of several yards. My wallet (sans a bit of paper money and driver’s license, which was surely used to cash the small check written out to me for a copy of Good to Go), a few credit cards (canceled and since, replaced), insurance cards and body donation card (also since, replaced) along with a little notebook (irreplaceable, so I’m delighted to get that back!) were returned to me last night when I went over to Bill’s house (turns out, he lives only a couple of miles from me).

Thank you Bruce from CDOT, Dan and Matt from Enroute Traffic Systems, and Bill for gathering and returning these items to me. That was mighty nice of you to go to so much trouble for someone you don’t even know.

(As for the person or persons who absconded with the other stuff from my purse? Whatever.)

As they say, “You can’t take it with you!”

Yesterday, as I sat in front of my computer, I heard a bagpiper warming up to play for a graveside service in the cemetery that borders my property. For an hour or so, the notes wafted through the window–musical scales and song bits.

It was obvious when the actual ceremony was underway, for there were several minutes of quiet followed by bagpipe renditions of Amazing Grace and another song, a faintly familiar melody. It haunted and vexed me that I could not think of the title, so I called someone I thought might know.

“Sing it to me,” she said.

“I don’t know the words,” I said.

“Then, hum or sing lah-lah’s,” she instructed.

After hearing a few bars down the phone line, she told me that she was fairly sure the song was called Going Home. But (being a private investigator), she wanted to double-check.

“I’ll research this and call you back,” she said. “I’m working a case right now, but I can do this. I want to know, too.”

Fifteen minutes later, she had the information: “The tune you heard on the bagpipe was Dvorak’s Symphony #9 in E minor and, just as I thought, was adapted into a spiritual song called Going Home by Harry Burleigh. The words are Goin’ home, goin’ home/I’m a goin’ home/Quiet like some fair day/I’m a goin’ home. I’ll bet it was pretty on the bagpipes.”

It was beautiful. And, so was Amazing Grace.

Julie is a childhood friend who works at the family-owned flower shop in my hometown. Whenever I ask, she puts together beautiful arrangements and places them on my parents’ graves. This is much appreciated because I live across the country and cannot often visit the cemetery where Mom and Dad are buried.

What about people who don’t happen to know a reliable florist and would like to have flowers placed on their loved ones’ graves?

Go to gravescape.com and learn about a concierge service that does just that–places flowers and plants on graves across the country. The group offers marker-cleaning services and photography of the grave site.

Nice to know, if you don’t know a “Julie.”

I called Molly (who’s 80 years old; and that’s not her real name for reasons that will be made obvious) and asked how she was doing.

“How am I doing? I am in so much pain,” Molly whimpered uncharacteristically. “I’ve never hurt like this before. I just want to die. I don’t want to live with this kind of pain. God, I hope it’s not my kidneys.”

“Molly, see if you can get an appointment with the doctor today and call me back because I am taking you,” I insisted.

An appointment was made and an argument ensued. Molly did not want to inconvenience me, but I convinced her to accept my help. Lori, another friend who also did not mind being inconvenienced, went along for the ride.

While Molly was in an examination room, Lori and I read magazines and played “Hangman.” Two hours went by before Molly toddled into the waiting room, simultaneously spewing apologies for taking so long and expressing relief that she felt better because the doctor said that her kidneys were all right.

“It’s all good,” we told her.

“No, it’s not all good,” Molly mocked us before barking, “I’ve got fifteen minutes to go downstairs and get a blood test before this place closes.”

We dropped by the pharmacy area where Molly plucked two boxes from a shelf. She handed me the eye drops and her credit card with instructions to make the purchase while she and Lori went to the lab. The line was so long, I had barely moved by the time they got back.

Looking at her watch, Molly grumped, “If we’re not up to the counter in five minutes I’m walking out.”

Five minutes went by. Molly motioned with a nod of her head that we were leaving, and purposefully returned to the over-the-counter product shelves. Lori and I followed like we were her baby ducks, quacking quietly to each other about what an ordeal it was–going to the doctor.

As we filed out the exit, Molly opened her hand and said, “I can’t believe I did what I just did, but I was not going to wait around in that place any longer. An entire afternoon is enough!”

One downward glance at Molly’s hand and it was apparent that she had taken advantage of the five-finger discount.

“I’m not a kleptomaniac,” she told us. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life. But, they owe me $25 worth of eye drops for taking so long at this doctor’s office today. God forgive me.”

We assured her that God forgives her, which probably makes us accessories to assurance, if not theft.

(Sometimes when I’m with my senior friends, I feel like I’m with friends in my senior high school days again. And, we’re still making the memories that make me smile. As Lori says, “What a hoot!”)

A new flag went up Friday morning in the cemetery behind my home. Workers spent the rest of the day mowing and setting up canopies in preparation for the long holiday weekend.

The following two days, families visited with flags and flowers for placement on individual graves. During my Sunday afternoon walk, I met a brother and sister as they unloaded supplies from their cars.

“They do a great job here, but we like to spiff up the grave marker ourselves,” he said.

“We cut the grass shorter and really shine it up,” she said.

Carrying a weed wacker, a portable backpack vacuum like the ones seen in Ghostbusters (no pun intended) and a bucket of spray cleaner and rags, the duo smiled and waved as they trekked across the well-manicured memorial park to manicure some more.

Monday started off cold with clouds  and ended up dreary with misting rain, but visitors were not deterred by the weather. On my daily stroll I saw frolicking children, out-of-state license plates, and people taking pictures. A galpal loaded her digital camera with images to email her boyfriend from another country, so that he could see how Memorial Day is done in America.

A salute to those who serve, a salute to those who have served, a salute to those who have fallen, a salute to those who maintain the memorials.

Pop out of a cake dressed as Marilyn and sing a birthday song. (Regardless of your gender, I highly recommend it!) How did this happen? Adrienne invited me to Dave and Danny’s surprise party. Then, she emailed back and asked if I would show up as Marilyn Monroe. Knowing I could borrow my galpal Pamela’s costume, I said I would. A few days before the event, Adrienne emailed again to inform me I would be popping out of a cake. If I’d known how much fun it would be, it would have already been on my “Bucket List” of things to do before I die. Now, it’s on the list as an afterthought. What a blast!

The pictures tell the story:

Artist Alan Klemm demonstrates how to pop out of a cake.

Alan Klemm helps me pop out of the cake he made.

Marilyn sings to the birthday boys!

Alkaline Hydrolysis is in the news. It’s a body disposal process heretofore used mostly on animal carcasses and with some cadaver matters, but could–soon enough for some of us–be available for any body and as affordable as cremation.I ain’t no scientist, but as I understand it:Body + Lye x Intense heat and Pressure = Liquid.Lye is added to the body in a big stainless steel “cooker.” The liquid is the consistency of motor oil and can be flushed. What doesn’t swirl down the drain ends up as a dry, bone-like residue and can be returned to survivors in a special container or an urn, if you know what I mean.Alkaline Hydrolysis is also known as “water-based biocremation” or “resomation.” Whatever you call it, critics have dubbed it undignified, too weird: or, as my neighbor Greg puts it, “Yucky!” Those in favor, site an absence of emissions and say it’s “environmentally responsible.”And so, the list of considerations for a body at expiration date grows: burial, green burial, cremation, promession (freeze-dried), cryogenic treatment (freezing for later thaw and revival), the aforementioned Alkaline Hydrolysis . . .I hear mummification is making a comeback.

My husband loves comic book action movies and I love Robert Downey, Jr., so we saw Iron Man on the day it came out. (The only other instance where I saw a movie on the release date was on a dare to brave first-day crowds for Jackass; and the film was actually more funny than gross.)

Great movie–Iron Man–with a terrific cast, amazing special effects, blah-blah-all-that; but what resonated with me were the threaded themes of knowing who to trust in the face of death and thinking about what kind of legacy you want to leave.

Perhaps as an intentional and haunting reminder of how art imitates life, Downey’s character was told in the movie, “Don’t waste your life.”

Before Iron Man, a preview for the new Batman movie was shown with hardly any footage of Christian Bale as “The Dark Knight.” Instead, the spotlight was on the late Heath Ledger as “The Joker.” (Don’t waste your life, indeed!)

An afternoon at the cinema drove home–at least, for me– the importance of making the most of the here and now, while keeping in mind: the hereafter.