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2:35am October 27, 2014
[A light blue gum wrapper with words on it. “Dare: Make a piece of art and try to sell it. #5TruthOrDare” and “Truth: If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do?”]  I’ve been meaning to use these as writing prompts. Given that I go through gum at an astounding rate. (These “5” gums, I tend to chew an entire pack of 15 sticks at once. That gives me the real feeling of eating a mouthful of food. And right now “5” and “Extra” are my favorite gums, the various mint flavors in particular.)  So “If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do?"  I’ve had a lot of time to think about this in the past few years, what with almost dying, and then watching family members almost die, and now my dad is in the process of dying. So here’s what I’d do if I had the time and money. I’d visit Bee Branch, Arkansas, where my family comes from, because I’ve never been there. If there was time, I’d spend some time seeing the rest of the Ozarks. If I had time and money, I’d visit Oklahoma, again the parts of it my family is from. (i don’t remember the names of the towns, but those names are in the book my dad is writing of family history.) Then I’d fly to San Jose, California. I’d meet up with Anne and her SO, and my family (whoever wanted to come and was still alive by then) there, and fly Laura out with me if I could. We’d drive up to Redwood Terrace and find the Mother Tree, or (if they cut Her down) the closest to Her we could find. Then I would lie down on the ground and wait to die, surrounded by the place and people I cared about the most.  This part is the most important, the one I couldn’t cut out even if there was no time or money for any of the rest of it.  I badly want to die in the same forest I was born in (or rather, born into living in), looking up at the trees. I’d leave after-death instructions: If Swedish-style composting has made it to the USA, I want to be put in the composting machine, reduced to a liquid that can be used as fertilizer, and then used to fertilize the trees and plants in that forest. Otherwise, I want to be cremated. Family and friends who wanted it could get small amounts of my ashes to put in an urn, or to put in cremation jewelry.  I would want Anne to have cremation jewelry if she could handle the concept without it squicking her too much.  Then the majority of the ashes I would want buried at the foot of the Mother Tree (or somewhere else in the forest, or the closet place, if She’s gone) and/or scattered in the same place.I’m not an organ donor, not because I don’t believe in it, but because many of my organs suck in ways we haven’t even figured out yet medically, and I don’t think it would be good to inflict them on a sick person.  They claim that doctors check them over before they give them to people, and that they don’t have to be perfect.  But mine are imperfect enough, and not always in ways that would show up in an examination, that I’d rather not leave someone my organs nonetheless.  Especially since we don’t quite know what’s wrong with them, we just know that many of them malfunction in ways that may well be connected.

[A light blue gum wrapper with words on it. “Dare: Make a piece of art and try to sell it. #5TruthOrDare” and “Truth: If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do?”] 


 I’ve been meaning to use these as writing prompts. Given that I go through gum at an astounding rate. (These “5” gums, I tend to chew an entire pack of 15 sticks at once. That gives me the real feeling of eating a mouthful of food. And right now “5” and “Extra” are my favorite gums, the various mint flavors in particular.) 

 So “If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do?" 

 I’ve had a lot of time to think about this in the past few years, what with almost dying, and then watching family members almost die, and now my dad is in the process of dying. So here’s what I’d do if I had the time and money. 

I’d visit Bee Branch, Arkansas, where my family comes from, because I’ve never been there. If there was time, I’d spend some time seeing the rest of the Ozarks. If I had time and money, I’d visit Oklahoma, again the parts of it my family is from. (i don’t remember the names of the towns, but those names are in the book my dad is writing of family history.) 

Then I’d fly to San Jose, California. I’d meet up with Anne and her SO, and my family (whoever wanted to come and was still alive by then) there, and fly Laura out with me if I could. We’d drive up to Redwood Terrace and find the Mother Tree, or (if they cut Her down) the closest to Her we could find. Then I would lie down on the ground and wait to die, surrounded by the place and people I cared about the most.  This part is the most important, the one I couldn’t cut out even if there was no time or money for any of the rest of it.  I badly want to die in the same forest I was born in (or rather, born into living in), looking up at the trees.

 I’d leave after-death instructions: If Swedish-style composting has made it to the USA, I want to be put in the composting machine, reduced to a liquid that can be used as fertilizer, and then used to fertilize the trees and plants in that forest. Otherwise, I want to be cremated. Family and friends who wanted it could get small amounts of my ashes to put in an urn, or to put in cremation jewelry.  I would want Anne to have cremation jewelry if she could handle the concept without it squicking her too much.  Then the majority of the ashes I would want buried at the foot of the Mother Tree (or somewhere else in the forest, or the closet place, if She’s gone) and/or scattered in the same place.

I’m not an organ donor, not because I don’t believe in it, but because many of my organs suck in ways we haven’t even figured out yet medically, and I don’t think it would be good to inflict them on a sick person.  They claim that doctors check them over before they give them to people, and that they don’t have to be perfect.  But mine are imperfect enough, and not always in ways that would show up in an examination, that I’d rather not leave someone my organs nonetheless.  Especially since we don’t quite know what’s wrong with them, we just know that many of them malfunction in ways that may well be connected.
Notes:
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