So I was wasting time, avoiding work this morning and I came across this story about how a widow is suing an airline because they forced her to check her husband's ashes and then promptly lost them.
Dane had requested at some point that if he died he should be cremated and scattered in Puget Sound, at the very least, or maybe up in Alaska (best case scenario, but he always assured me that he wouldn't know the difference at that point). Even after he died and the saccharin funeral director "brought Dane home" (could there be a more bullshit term?) in his lovely little box I didn't really think too much about it until I was talking to my friend Mandy about the issues that could arise in transport on a plane. Would I have to check him? Would his tongue ring set off the metal detectors? Would they open the box? Would I need to buy a separate seat, or could he sit on my lap like a child? Holy crap. The possibilities for a ginormous clusterfuck, a major scene and Suzannah in the hoosegow are endless.
The other thing Dane and I used to say we were going to do is to kidnap someone's garden gnome and then take him/her on a cross-country trip, taking photographs and then mailing them back to the house from whence the gnome came (returning the gnome at the end, of course). In the event that I ever do get up for scattering Dane's ashes, perhaps this is what I will do; we will make the trip, and I will take artful shots of Dane at sunset in the Grand Canyon; at Elvis's house next to a fried peanut butter and nanner sandwich; under the Maid of the Mist at Niagara Falls. Not sure who I would mail them to, though. Any takers?
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