Soon Mr. Bobo and Mr. Beers will find themselves on a journey. They will be visiting with friends and family members. They will be attending a wedding here, a graduation there, with a dinner, a breakfast, maybe a cocktail hour or two adding some flavor to their days on the road. Mr. Bobo is looking forward to visiting with a couple of friends from Hendrix College, and maybe a buddy or two from Hope High School. In anticipation of such doings, Mr. Bobo has become a little nostalgic. But that’s not anything unusual.

I have wonderful, colorful memories from being an elementary school kid in Dallas, and then an angst-ridden teenager (that’s redundant, I guess) in rural Arkansas, and later a college student in Conway, Arkansas. When I start reminiscing about those college days, Mr. Beers is sometimes a tad jealous. You see, Mr. Beers claims not to remember a whole lot from his college days. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Of course, all of our life experiences in our pasts lead us to exactly where we are now. All of those people with whom we’ve shared those experiences have affected us in ways that we can’t begin to measure. And rather than break into the opening lines of "Seasons Of Love" from Rent, I’d like to share.

Mr. And Mrs. Maxham were in the deli this week, and while there, Mrs. Maxham called my attention to this:

It is the obituary of one Ellen McGarr. There are many remarkable and wonderful things in the obituary, including things like:

Carried away on the wings of angels, she is secure in the arms of our Savior, her head comfortably and attractively tilted at about a 45 degree angle so that it rests on our Lord's right shoulder.

If one reads on, the notice reveals that Ms. McGarr was involved in the writing of her own obituary. This is a fact that prompted Mrs. Maxham and I to discuss the possibilty of an obituary writing workshop for like-minded folks who might like to have a very literal and perhaps literary say about how they are remembered by friends and family. I am suggesting we organize an evening for such an activity and call it something like "Martinis and Mortality" or Olives and Obituaries." What do you think? Cocktails might fuel a creative discussion in which we might share suggestions regarding flattering albeit euphemistic ways to describe one’s obsession with, oh, I don’t know, tequila shots.

Ms. Ellen McGarr has set the bar rather high. Mrs. Maxham points to another poetic gem:

Sadly, she stopped making homemade mayonnaise and began to put dark meat in her chicken salad, but she did remember how to set a table.

Uh-oh. I may be remembered for making Crystal Light cocktails, or how well I can fold laundry. Wow. How will your obituary sound?  This is not from  Ms. McGarr's obituary, but it's pretty good.


  1. Ha! That's nice, However I prefer biscuits at my head and syrup at my feet so I may sop my way to heaven.
    Love what you do keep up the good work!

  2. I want to go to Martinis and Mortality! Sign me up. :)


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