St. Bob and I have decided we’re going to live for a very long time. However, we want to have all our affairs in order to keep our kids from having a paperwork nightmare. So we’ve drawn up our will, a trust, and our burial plans.
We had our
eldest son go through the house with us and write down everything of
value. He then made a spread sheet and sent it to the other three kids, so they
could write their names beside cherished items.
Ha! Nobody even
checked one box. Nobody wants our stuff, and it’s the same with most of our
friends. Kids today have more modern taste and our things look frumpy to them.
And now we’ve
hit a snag with our burial plans. Nicole wants to turn me into compost! I’m
serious. There are companies that do this. (What do they call it—Mompost?)
Our daughter, ever the sustainable/locally sourced/environmentally healthy person plans to sprinkle me over her yard. Mind you, someday another person will buy that home, dig me up, throw me into a trash can, and take me to the dump. Well, at least I’ll get to travel.
But what if she has a cat or a dog… oh, nevermind.