Counting Down, Morning at the Library and Casket Shopping

Countdown to take off. We leave on Tuesday and although I am having a lovely time, there is this hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach… I don’t like waiting.

There is also an internet problem at the house and so here we are, the monk and I, at the library and there is a couple sitting next to our table having a loud conversation. He is snippy and she’s wearing a sparkly shirt and is trying not to provoke him. The library isn’t just about  books anymore.
 I like to think of my mom counting down also, eager to have her space back to herself but I know that’s not true. She will miss us, as messy and large as we are in her space. I would be anxious as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I love my own space. I like the tidiness of it. The quiet. The monk gets up at five every morning and turns on lights and starts his day. He is a turtle carrying his home on his back. He is home wherever he is. It’s an amazing thing to watch. Like a nature show about a creature you never knew existed.

The couple is gone and now a little man in shorts and an orange v-neck sweater and fishing hat has taken their place. He is sitting, quietly reading his newspaper.  

The monk makes plans. He gets up in the morning and says “today we should…” and he rattles off a complete schedule. Yesterday we had to get up and go to the movies and then we had to go to lunch, Cuban because we had Italian the day before. After lunch we went home so he could bead and work on his translation before pool time. He swims in circles around me while I swim from end to end endlessly. My arms feel strong even though they are wrinkled. I have discovered that I can’t swim and laugh at the same time. That ends the outside activities portion of the day. Evenings are spent watching tv in between and around beading and translating for him, drawing and reading for me. But I’m mostly watching tv lately. Saving it all up for when I go home where I will not be watching food shows though I think I can maybe watch on my laptop. Addiction is a bitch.
Now I have to go casket shopping. Yes, casket shopping. My mom has been after me to take her to pick out her box. Seriously. I had done a pretty good job of avoiding this task up until now. She mentioned it to the monk and it is now on the schedule for this afternoon. I still have a plan on how to avoid this. Stay tuned. So this morning she asked if I’d do some comparison shopping on line before we go to the cemetery this afternoon. I found this.

and this…

If you click on the picture it will take you to an article about Why Caskets Occasionally Explode.
You’re welcome.


  1. I sort of love that Moses basket for eternal sleep. It's beautiful. Kind of sad to think of it being buried away where no one would ever see it again.
    As to exploding corpses- ick. Yeah. No. Either wrap me in a sheet and stick me in the dirt in a green cemetery (I love the idea of these) or else burn my ass up.
    And it sure won't matter to me.
    Good luck with the afternoon's events.


  2. When I first saw your subject, I thought omg your Mother got worse! My Mother picked hers out when Dad died and was paid for when she died over 20 years later. I plan on being cremated and planted in a tree mug thing.

    I can see him swimming circles around you~ lol …. been there ~ what fun swim and laugh at the same time… ha~ love the basket casket! how cool is that…

    She will miss you and you'll miss her… Mother and daughters… what a plan 😉


  3. Ms Moon…it is sort of pretty but I'm more the throw me in a burlap sack and bury me in the forest kind of girl. Green cemetery. yes! I keep telling my mom it won't matter once she's dead but it matters to her right now so…
    We went to Roseland! Beautiful and I'm sad we didn't have more time there. We ate at a place called Vic's which I'm certain has been there since the beginning of time.


I'm listening

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s