A Bit Downbeat.

The Shire today has been a place of dark skies and dirty water. Lots of it. And what I thought of writing about Trump isn’t worth the effort.

*  *  *

But something’s bothering me. I’ve paid to have a direct cremation when the time comes for me to leave this earth, and that means no funeral. On the one hand, you see, I consider funerals to be a waste of money because only the decaying remains of the body are in the coffin. The person has gone. On the other hand, a funeral is a way for people to say their final goodbye to somebody who mattered to them, and there are nine people who I would like to say goodbye to me. They are my daughter and her six children, Mel, and the Lady B. They’re the people who matter to me.

Now, dependent on the manner of my demise, there’s a reasonable chance that Sam, the kids, and Mel might have the opportunity. They might even be present when I leave. But the Lady B? Not very likely, is it? The best I can hope for in that regard is the conveyance of the fact.

‘I hear Jeff died.’

‘Jeff?’

‘The man who used to live up by the school.’

‘Oh, that Jeff.’

I suppose it’s a goodbye of sorts.