As folks of my age and shelf life get a bit older, a lot of us are probably trying to get various worldly ducks in a row and straighten out things like wills. In any such discussion, there’s the delicate matter of what to do with the actual remains, ye olde corpus of delicti, and where said corpi should reside while the spirit is off gallivanting in heaven, hell, paradise, purgatory, or maybe just Cleveland.
Well, somebody next door in Alabama has come up with an interesting solution: burying his late wife in the front yard. That’s right, friends. Buried. His. Wife. In. His. Front. Yard. This, says he, was her wish. Not the back forty or even the back yard. The front.
Ah, the South. Can you think of any other place on earth where this might ever possibly, conceivably happen? William Faulkner, of course, laid down the Southern philosophy on such matters for all time when he wrote, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Now, it’s “The dead may be past but I still have to water ‘em once a week, and sometimes throw on a little Weed and Feed.”
I guess he’s saving money on flowers and gas (no driving to an actual cemetery). But I sure feel sorry for the man’s neighbors, especially if they’re the superstitious type and didn’t get along too well with the deceased. Does everybody whistle when they walk past?
And just imagine trying to sell your home, having a buyer all ready to sign, and then they innocently ask, “Oh, what is that charming display in that yard?” The city attorney and the town council must be thinking right about now, “I’ll bet even John Boehner never has to put up with anything like this.” Oh, there’s one heck of a reality show in here somewhere!
My own preferences in this area will stay private, but it’s safe to say I will not be spending eternity under the crepe myrtles of Dunwoody. In fact, I don’t want to be under anything. I belong to the John Prine school of funeral planning:
Please don’t bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I’d rather have ‘em cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don’t mind the size
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