Thanks, Sophia and Jesse. We're supposed to be leaving for Mom's after school on Wednesday. My hope is that we're all better and somehow I can get laundry and packing done by then.

And some good work news. My old boss (again) proposed me becoming the assistant director of our Center. The Dean was actually on board, but we can't call it assistant director until I actually earn my master's and probably doctorate and probably become faculty, not staff . So we need some sort of title that is above "Program Coordinator/Admin Assistant) but is not assistant director, because that would cause chaos. And I have nothing. Because in every other school in our University, the faculty overseeing the department are Chairs, and the staff are directors and assistant directors. But in our school, the faculty are directors and the staff are administrators. But they also can't have me be an administrator, because "there is only one". But I basically got to describe my dream job to the associate dean, and she was on board with it- we just have to think of how we word it so I keep my increased pay and salary status, and basically don't piss off the PhD prepared program directors.

My dad is 91 and still has not planned his funeral. He did have us buy the plot next to my mom when we were arranging her funeral, but now says he wants to be cremated and buried in mom's plot.

Having to make all those decisions for my mom while still in shock over her dying was terrible. And so fucking expensive. My mom would have been horrified that her funeral cost so much. The only thing she would have liked were the flowers.

Bev, bwah!

While I hope it's many years off, Ken and I will likely make use of the Recompose facility, with the soil going to the Bainbridge Food Forest if they'll permit dispersal; we have wills and funds set aside. (For anyone who's read Becky Chambers's Wayfarers series, this is the method of body disposition used by the Exodans.) Jim has booked a deluxe cruise on the River of Denial rather than dealing, and I sometimes give my nightguard a workout over it.

Fortunately my folks went to one too many annoying funerals and sent me and my sister explicit instructions re: cremation, no funeral, scatter the ashes, and then have family and friends over for Mexican food at their favorite place. It worked pretty well. The margaritas helped.

That seems sweet to me, Bev.

That's extremely cool, amyparker! I bet my dad would like that, although needing to go to Seattle for it would be inconvenient.His current plan is cremation and his ashes going to one of the sites hes' worked to rehabilitate for the watershed, but I'm sure composting would appeal to him.

My dad signed the papers to donate his body to science, and I figure it's worth studying how someone could have 5 heart attacks (that we know of) and keep on trucking.

He still hasn't made a fucking will (yeah, the man who's had 5 heart attacks has blithely ignored making a will), and my New Year's resolution is to get him to make one as early in 2020 as possible. He doesn't have much of anything in the way of an estate, so he thinks he doesn't need a will. I've tried to explain to him that even if all he had was his truck and the clothes on his back, he goddamn well needs one. So stubborn.

I actually have no idea what my mom and stepdad want in the way of funerals, but I do know that they have wills.

~ma for your cousin, PMM

I'm sorry, Plei. Some ~ma is heading your cousin's way.

My Dad had all his final wishes laid out: no embalming, no funeral service. His body went directly from the hospice to the crematorium and my stepmom picked them up. She ordered a biodegradable paper package for scattering ashes at sea because she felt that was more dignified than messy windblown ashes everywhere. She asked me to pick a bouquet from my garden to decorate it. Then she booked a room at their favorite Italian restaurant for a buffet for all their friends and invited his relatives to stay at the house for the weekend and chartered a boat. It all felt like it was appropriate for him and that he would have enjoyed himself.

We looked at old pictures and told stories about our memories. It was way better than hiring a stranger to pray.

This Thanksgiving will be a sad time for me. Last year I was so happy he survived his intestinal adventures in Montana and got home just in time for Thanksgiving. Now that I know that was his last turkey day it's good to know that i remembered to be grateful for my Dad while he was here.