Solemnity doesn’t suit me, so why not do it my way?

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, and not because I think I think I’m about to kick the bucket.

But a lot of our friends are, unfortunately. For the last two Mondays my husband and I attended services either celebrating the life of…. or memorializing the death of… In his usual, irreverent style, hubby said that maybe we should just start reserving all our Mondays for these events.

There was a big difference between the two services we attended, although both were in churches. The one that should have been the most solemn was actually quite a gay affair. Perhaps it was because the deceased, who suffered a massive heart attack and died at the all-too-early age of 53, was an actor…..a man who discovered only five years ago that he loved being on stage–the adrenaline rush of having to say the right words at the right time, all the while nonchalantly wandering around a set, picking up a water glass here, sweeping a broom there, or looking crestfallen when the script called for it. He didn’t look the part of an actor, but then who among us does other than Nicole Kidman and Jude Law? Ward stood about five feet tall and was about the same circumference as Humpty Dumpty. You couldn’t look at Ward without breaking into a grin.

Ward’s service was punctuated with lots of juicy stories of antics both onstage and behind the scenes from his fellow actors. The result was that we all walked out of that church with a tear or two, but a very warm feeling.

By contrast, the Catholic mass that was said for a wonderful history teacher who had suffered much from cancer seemed too solemn and formal. If it hadn’t been for the fond remembrances of one friend, very little would have been said about the Pat we all knew. Pat was the kind of a teacher whose students returned years later to say they learned their appreciation of history from her. She was also one of the most astute bridge players I’ve ever known.

I have to say I don’t think I’ve ever been to a funeral service that I felt came anywhere near close to what the absent honoree was all about. The closest was when our friend, Bob, died. He was a true American original who couldn’t be pigeonholed into any category. Also a teacher, Bob’s church service was chock-full of so many stories of his wild and crazy life that the minister almost let the whole thing get away from her.

I wish she had. What most of us wanted, really, was to be sitting around a big bonfire up on Bob’s undeveloped ranch outside of Yreka in Northern California. trading stories all night long about Bob’s loveably eccentric ways.

That ranch was the site of one of our most outlandish Bob memories. After discovering that he had built his barn a foot onto the property of his neighbor (who wanted it off his property or he’d sue), Bob invited us all to the ranch for a barn-moving party. He actually believed that if he could cut off the beams at the foundation and get a lot of trucks to pull it, the barn could be moved. No one thought it would turn out that way. We all just assumed the two-story barn would collapse when it was yanked.

Bob dumbfounded us all because the barn…moved! But the most extraordinary part of this whole adventure was when Bob decided to climb atop his barn roof, cowboy hat in hand, and yelp and scream ala Dr. Strangelove as the massive barn moving was attempted. Fortunately the cooler head of his wife prevailed, and he reluctantly got down before the barn moving began.

The upshot of all these death and dying thoughts is that I have compiled “Joanne’s 10 Cardinal Rules to be Followed After her Death.” I already have an Advance Health Care Directive, and a Living Trust–that’s not what this is. These Rules are for what happens “after”:

Rule No. 1: Nothing happens for awhile so that family and friends can get over the weepies and plan a great party.

Rule No. 2: Under no circumstances whatsoever is there to be any kind of ceremony involving a church, a minister or the singing of “Amazing Grace.”

Rule No. 3: Another “under no circumstances”–No one who doesn’t know me, has never met me or TALKED to me will be allowed to say a word ABOUT me.
I mean….really….why would you want that?

Rule No. 4: Whatever is planned (and I’m sure my daughters, hubby and stepdaughters will come up with a fine plan), it’s gotta be at a really cool location. Maybe outdoors depending on the time of year. If indoors, there can’t be chairs lined up in rows. We need chairs, yes, because people get tired of standing up all the time, but chairs and tables need to be scattered here, there and all around the square. If I think up a suitable location, guys, I’ll let you know before I go.

Rule No. 5: Since I always choose Broadway musicals whenever I want to listen to music, just put on a big stack of Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Sondheim (sorry, Ray!), Gershwin, Lerner and Lowe, and Streisand CDs–loud enough to hear but not so loud the music drowns out conversation.

Rule No. 6: I’m expecting a lot of you to tell funny stories about me. I think I’m a pretty funny person (my daughters will attest to all my peccadilloes), so I’d like you to share some strange, weird, cute or just plain zany thing I did or said that you remember (fondly I hope).

Rule No. 7: Absolutely NO floral wreaths, huge bouquets, etc. etc. It has always made me feel terrible that all those funeral flowers will die in a few days–what’s the sense in that? For goodness sake, people! Use your heads and make a donation to some really good cause–like maybe eradicating whatever is going to kill me. (Maybe if you had done that sooner…..no, I won’t go there.)

Rule No. 8: But……..I do love yellow, apricot and white roses, so I’m commanding that my family buy buckets and buckets of long-stem roses, and everyone who comes to my “event” (whatever it is) gets to take one as they leave. Oh, yes. And they have to smell really rosy!

Rule No. 9: Burial? Fagedabouddit! No way. I sure don’t cotton to the idea of people standing around a piece of dirt thinking I’m there–and I don’t like the notion of being put six feet under anyway. Nope….gonna do this my way. I want little boxes of my ashes offered to those in my family (friends, too) who want a part of me. I’d prefer they scatter me in their rose beds (so I’d always be coming up roses, sort of) or atop a high vista somewhere that’s warm, sunny, and has a great view of land and sea.

Rule No. 10: Never mind a No. 10. Nine’s enough.

I can just hear hubby Ray now. “Isn’t that just like Joanne?” he’ll chuckle. “She liked to control everything in her–and my–life. Now she even wants to control her after life!”

Well…..you can’t fault a girl for trying, can you?