Saturday, March 21, 2015

Filling in the blank

Sarah and I are sitting in Bill Shearouse's office doing our will.

"Let's discuss the final arrangements," Bill suggests dripping in dignity while working but we know better.

"Well," I quickly respond ready to be done, "I'm being cremated."

Sarah's head jerks in my direction.

"What?" she asks. "I'm going to be buried."

"Just throw my ashes in her casket," I say. "It'll be like a two-for-one service ... 50% off ... besides I'll be dead ... so I won't care."

That was a few years ago and Sarah and I haven't revisited the topic ... though as it currently stands ... according to Bill ... if I go first ... I have to be kept somewhere until Sarah dies and someone ... I assume it'll be Laurel the 10 year old ... throws my ashes on top of her casket.

It could be Sarah's casket is still open when I'm thrown in but I don't know if that's wishful thinking or not.

She may be over me and not want me anymore ... especially in eternity.

It could be she's in love with someone after I'm gone and I get bumped in the whole funeral arrangement plan.

I've seen it happen before.

Regardless, my preference is to be with her into eternity.

But that is not the point.

I've been thinking about my obituary.

The Savannah Morning News charges like $350 for a nice one with a color photograph of what I used to look like before I died.

I don't care anything about that.

Nor do I want our children writing my obituary ... that'll just cause angst ... they'll screw it up ... and they've got enough to worry about without having to worry about me ... especially when I'm dead.

So ...

I want a blank box in the  Savannah Morning News with my name at the top ... I don't care about when I was born and when I died ... just my name's fine ... followed by the instructions ... "FILL IN THE BLANK."

I know what I did and didn't do ... it'll be interesting to see what other people write.

If they write anything at all.

My only concern is how much The Savannah Morning News charges for empty space.

Of course I won't be around to read it so ...  oh I don't care ... it'll still be funny.

Unless it costs too much ... then Sarah should save the money and do something nice for herself for putting up with me like se does.

Really ... I Do!

"What if it's the fat one?" Bubba asks sitting on the stool beside me at the counter at The Breakfast Club.

"What if it is?" I counter.

"I need a plan," he says. "If it's the fat one ... I'll say ... "Hey I forgot my cigarettes in the truck!" ... then I'll get the Hell out of there fast!"

"Brilliant!" I say.

"Course if it's the other one I'm staying," he nods.

"Absolutely," I agree.

It all started with a note left on his windshield after work at Tybee Island's favorite restaurant. Reading, "I think you're really cute. I'm here for a few days. Call me."

The problem is there were two of them ... one significantly larger than the other Bubba remembered serving day ... which one left the note?

"How'd it go?" I ask the following morning.

I don't know where it came from but Bubba had a lot of "Saint" in his lineage. He could be quiet and soft, full of humility and joy!

He also drank like a fish, smoked like a bear, laughed like a clown and loved like Jesus.

Putting his arm around me, he smiled like an Angel and says, "I was so relieved."

So for the next few weeks there was a new note on Bubba's windshield from a different admirer, each in a different handwriting, with different phone numbers requesting to meet with him.

Most were written by my daughters Kristen and Chelsea but Bubba didn't know.

It drove him crazy.

"How did I become so hot?" he asks.

"You're not hot," I reassure him. "There's just lots of desperate women in the world."

A few weeks later Bubba brings the "skinny one" to meet me.

"Really?" I whisper in his ear.

"Really," he whispers back ... Now Bubba has a way of saying words that makes them completely and utterly his own ... "Really" is one ... and it comes out slow and long with a hint of disbelief ... REEEAAA ...LEE."

Shrugging my shoulders, I am happy for him.

"Hey Rev," he asks a few months later, "will you do our wedding?"

"REEAAA...LEE?" I answer.

Of course I do.

It was quite spectacular if I say so myself.

When I ask "Who gives this Bride to be married?" ... her children gleefully scream "WE DO!" ... as if they couldn't be happier to be rid of her.

The Homily was about how marriage is like the "Road Runner" and if you want to catch love then you have to keep chasing it like Wile E. Coyote ... even if it means going over a cliff ... which is exactly what Bubba was doing.

And in the years that followed he was happy and I remained a front row participant and partner in crime with him.

I'm not certain why I'm doing an inventory of weddings I've conducted but I'm finding it quite joyous.

And today I'm especially thankful Bubba and I've spent this time together.

Wherever you're at ... whatever you're doing ... and I'm certain that it's something ... I still love you.

RRREEEAAA-LEE ... I do.