I had a conversation today about approaches to ashes. Scatter? Save? Bury? I think if I were cremated, I’d want someone to be stuck taking care of me, dust off my urn every now and then. I hope they curse me out for entrusting them with the care of my ashes while they’re running the Swiffer duster over my final resting place – on top of their TV.
I always assumed I’d cremate myself. I am opposed to taking up space in an indestructible box in a cemetery. But being with The Egyptian, I learned that Muslims consider burning a body a dishonour to the dead. I’ve thought about this a long time and I think it actually does seem rather terrible. I think their method of washing the body, wrapping it in a white cloth and putting it in the ground within 24 hours is lovely.
I guess North Americans are coming around to this idea slowly. But we prefer to call it a “green burial“. You can have some sort of rough-hewn wooden box, if you really must. Or you can choose a shroud or a cardboard box, which I think is the way to go. If I’m going in the ground anyway, I want to become part of the earth. Please no chemicals, no weird make-up and please no super polished, velvet-lined box.
Or, there’s also promession, which is kind of awesome. They freeze you, shatter you into a bajillion pieces and then you can be put out in the garden to fertilize their tulips with you. I like that.
I also really like author, Patricia Pearson’s thought on the matter:
“I myself would like to be buried in a bed of soft lake sediment so that I can turn up in 215 million years as an interesting fossil.” (Area Woman Blows Gasket: Tales from the Domestic Frontier)
But the death towers are still my fave.
Somewhat related, I’d like Ingrid to sing at my funeral and I think Lisa should probably do a belly dance.