For the record, ha ha

All things considered, it helps -- in every situation -- to have a sense of humor.

I'm fixing to go out on a limb here: Dour, humorless types baffle and vex me.

Baffle because I don't understand how they face each new day, and vex because a dour person is a real buzzkill.

I am only being honest.

If you can't laugh (at the appropriate time), I'm not sure you can truly grieve (at the appropriate time). There are times to be silly and times to be serious.

The most endearing and enduring people know one from the other.

That does not mean we are all required to find the same things humorous in the same way. Heaven forfend.

It is still, for a while at least, a marginally free country. Your funnybone, whatever its proclivities, is not accountable to me, nor mine to you.

Clever minds take various forms and wander down myriad avenues, taking in the scenery.

Be that as it may, I find this sign terribly amusing:

Because it is stationed prominently just inside the entrance gate of one of my favorite haunts, both now and in the hereafter: Columbia's historic Elmwood Cemetery.

This being the very acreage where, if the Lord tarries and I'm not caught up in the rapture of the saints, avoiding death as Christians since Christ's resurrection and ascension have hoped they would do, my own mortal remains will someday be planted.

Wait. Why did you find that sign funny, you may be thinking.

Well. When you stop by the office (a sad place sorely in need of redecorating) to update your records, what precisely are you going to say?

Hey! I'm still alive!

Or:

Hey. I'm still dead.

Or:

Hey. I'm still alive.

Or:

Hey! I'm still dead!

Behind door number three? Likely a mere change of (physical) address or cell phone number. Or heart.

By the way: Before some levity-challenged -- but no less valued -- reader finds it necessary to correct me here, please know this is all tongue-in-cheek.

I know what the (distinctly humorless) powers-that-be at Elmwood mean by the sign.

I think.

Either way however, I am disinclined to acquiesce to their request.

My records? They are what they are.

In conclusion, I've told my children: At my funeral (whenever that may occur, and no time soon I hope) and for the days after, for as long as it takes, I want you to cry.

But I also want you to laugh.

They know what I mean. When my time comes, I will be mourned and remembered by some exceedingly fine individuals.

I believe I have taught them how to both rejoice and grieve. These are important lessons.

Anyway. If you think this is weird? You should have clicked out when you had the chance.

Know that I love you.

And that is all for now.

=0=0=0=

Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

Comments

[Donna (Texas)]

You're so bad!!Hahaaa.....
I say, Stooopid Signage!
Fun!
hughugs

[irene]

It is humorous. .

[Barb]

Well, yes, I got a chuckle out of that one. I was just talking to Bob this morning about my own death (I don't find it a morbid subject). Especially at a certain age (and before you're failing), I think it's good to have your wishes known. There won't be cemetery in my future - though like you, I am attracted to the old ones. I guess I won't have to update my records...

[Judy Miller]

I happen to love cemeteries--the peaceful quietness. No ancestor there can or will chastise me for my wrong doings. I especially love the one my ancestor's repose in and where I will join them. In fact, I was just there last week and checked out my marker to make sure it was not covered with grass clippings. Walked around and chatted with a few of the elders--got no response from them, thank goodness. My friends tend to think I am weird because I go to this cemetery--often. But then my friends, think my sense of humor is weird all the time. So.............

[Jennifer]

@Donna ... I like your style, girl. No surprise there.

@Irene ... I know, right?

@Barb ... Absolutely, unless you make your wises known (and take whatever steps are possible to enforce them before the fact), that's all they are: wishes. Be specific, I always say. And you're right: our eventual demise is not a morbid subject. It's a privilege to have lived.

@Judy ... girl you are truly funny. I'd like to walk a cemetery with you someday.

[Mari]

Not weird - I think it's funny too!
I think humor is so important - it helps us get through so many things.
My sister and brother-in-law lost twins at 20 weeks. I was in the hospital most of the time in the 3 days leading up to this. It was such a sad time and many tears were shed over that time. But then in the middle of it was laughter. We said later that God knows we can't handle that kind of grief without a break, so he gives us laughter, even in the middle of terrible times.
I know when my time comes (if the rapture doesn't come before that), my kids will cry, but they will also have memories and laugh about their crazy mom!

[Jennifer]

@Mari ... exactly. What a sweet story. And I can just see your lovely family on that sad/joyful day when you go home, laughing through their tears. I hope I get to hug your neck before Heaven. xoxo