Will My Cremains Be In Dad's Shaving Mug?

Another birthday has come and gone, this year on January 13. All day long I kept thinking, I'm another year older, IF my Mom told the truth about my birthday being on this unusual schedule. I tried to explain it a couple years ago at this link. (As an aside, I actually liked 2016 better, with it being on Jan. 9, not so long to wait. The next time I get it that good is 2022, a virtual eternity away.)

Of course birthdays make me alternately happy and wistful. Because of death, of course. Which is quickly mitigated by the fact that I know I shall live till 85. Occasionally I run into someone 85, and I always say, "As you are, so I shall be. But once I am as you are, no longer shall I be." It's kind of a riddle, and sometimes when I lay it on them they drop dead on the spot. I put my hands up, all innocent, going, "I don't know what happened, maybe some kind of weird psychic overload!"

Death has changed over the years. There's always something new people have to think about. It used to be old guys and gals would assemble at the funeral parlor and check out the caskets, the various models and colors. The salesman going, "Here you got The Corinthian Emperor, a beautiful model any man'd be proud to stretch out in. Or let's say you're more bargain-minded, there's always our old standby, The Pine Box. Even with the low price, it's a great little casket, guaranteed to keep your body perfectly incorrupt a full 10 years."

But now caskets are out and ash receptacles are in. You can still go to the funeral home and listen to their sales pitch about "this roomy little number." Or you can do it the way I'm going to do, find something around the house or at a store to hold yourself. The graphic above shows some of the containers I'm considering. I have a soft spot in my heart for my dad, who died way back when, the early 2000s. I inherited his shaving mug, over which there's still hard feelings; my four brothers also wanted it, but somehow it found its way into my trunk, and the rest is shaving history.

The other objects are fairly self-explanatory, but I want to highlight the pitcher. My mom's ashes went into a pitcher precisely like this one. Although, and I hope I'm not putting too fine a point on it, her ashes didn't heap over the top like that. She wasn't that big. And the thing with ashes is usually you don't need huge space, since they're compact. Look at me, a guy my size -- average to below average, depending on which parts you're talking about -- could fit in a pitcher like that and have room to grow.

Mom's pitcher looked great at her Memorial Service, The Service of Remembrance, An Assembly of Friends in Solemn Grief, Our Final Goodbye, A Time for Joy, Not Tears. I'm a little sad thinking about it, but also proud of how it all worked out. We kept it reverent enough there were no lightning bolts. But pleasant enough that her pitcher didn't open like Aladdin's Lamp with a monstrous version of a once beautiful mother appearing in wrath. As for her ashes, they were later scattered, and I don't know what happened to the pitcher. Probably sneaked out by my brother like me with Dad's shaving mug. Might be why I have to stand at the door when I go to visit.

So she was scattered. And so it shall be for me, at some indeterminate time after I'm 85. Whatever I choose as a receptacle, I know I will like it. To the extent that dead ashes can like things. I don't smoke or I'd ask a cigarette, just a little joke there. Let's say my spirit's drifting overhead somewhere. I'm sure they'll have my blessing.

Your Career in Funeral Folder Photography

First, just let me say, I'm not a professional photographer. The ins and outs of photography is not my thing. I don't know a light meter from a parking meter, if there is a difference. I just happen occasionally to snap a good picture.

All that said, I have had accidental success as a photographer for funeral folders, the programs morticians hand out at their services. I don't have a good way to check the records, but my pictures of the beloved have appeared in four or five funeral folders over the years. And they've gotten good comments, too, along the lines of, "What a nice picture of him or her."

Now I'm sitting here wondering, What could I have accomplished had I set out to accomplish anything? I never did; like I said, all my photos have been accidental, pictures taken for other purposes then used later as great shots for that final day.

If only I'd made a studio and advertised, "Funeral Folder Pictures in 5 Minutes," I might be rich today! Because as vain as everyone is, they'd be breaking down the door to get the perfect shot. And there I'd be -- with my cheap cameras -- to provide it. They might look at my very modest cameras and be suspicious, and yet I've got a pretty good history to back them up. It's not how expensive you're camera is, it's the photog that gets the shots.

At other places, they arrange the family. Let's say it's for a good 50th anniversary picture. You always want the man so he looks about three foot taller. Up and down rectangular. He fills up the entire left side of the shot, top to bottom. The woman then has the right side, but her head's mostly in the bottom corner. That's a take!

Or if you're taking graduation pictures. These days, you find every rustic locale in town. Broken down cars, buildings with terrible graffiti on them, rusty trains, industrial disposal bins with fumes. The graduate lounges in front, looking fantastic in comparison. They don't have to do anything especially, just a pleasant smile. The photos always come out looking great. There's very little retouching needed; the acne never looks bad, blending in with the despicable background.

Or maybe you're taking glamor shots. These are always over the top, with a lot of shouting (mostly for effect), "Work it! Work it!," as she goes through her best moves, generally a lot of amateurish stripper-like moves, reaching for a pretend pole, etc. I've never yet seen a glamor shot that's actually any good. Give me a fresh-faced farmer's daughter up against the barn any day. You know she knows where the hay is, and she knows you know, which of course must be made while the sun shines. "That's a wrap!"

For funeral shots, all this is out. You want the person to simply relax, relax, relax -- while staying awake. If they need something to think about, I would describe the peacefulness of nature, in particular the very tall, skinny trees you see in cemeteries. Or flash slides on the wall in front of them, of milky white statues of our Lord, either in prayer at Gethsemane or leading sheep through some beautiful valley, free of mosquitoes.

If you need to speak to them further, use your gentlest voice, telling them you've admired them your whole life, noting their lives of quiet dignity, not like the common run of psychotic man. While others have run amok, they've been solid as a rock, a stone to stand for eternity, yea tall and yea wide, on a good foundation, keeping an average size grave from flying around the room.

You might speak of the horizon as bright: "Look closely at it ... Are those ducks I see? Way off in the distance ... either flying south for the winter, or north for the summer. They're definitely headed somewhere." The pictures are going great. You've very likely already gotten the perfect shot. But it doesn't hurt to secure an extra. For this, muster up whatever sincerity you have left, and assure them, "Everyone is your friend, and they wish you well. There's really nothing to hold you back -- the way the world is. We'll all be OK, you have earned your reward."

SNAP! It's good, it's in the iPhone, ready to be uploaded to the boys at the funeral home!

The Valentine's Flower Racket Morticians Run

I'm getting the word out there early on something I suspect, way before Valentine's Day, because I'm hoping to get widespread attention on this matter. I'd call it something of a scam. At least that's my suspicion, and I've always had a pretty good success rate in these things. At the very least it should be investigated, and when found to be true, be exposed, shut down, and left dead in its tracks. Prosecute!

My suspicion -- and I'm pretty sure it's more than that, it's something factual -- is that there's a huge racket being run by unscrupulous morticians. The racket goes something like this: Starting around October or November, they start "syphoning off" flowers from their funerals, then keep them in cold storage till just before Valentine's Day. Then they are sold everywhere, like to florists looking for something cheap to help their profit margin.

The big problem as I see it is that those flowers were purchased by well-meaning families and aggrieved loved ones, meant solely to honor the dead. They weren't meant to go from hand to hand, then on some black market, only to end up, maybe purchased by the same people as tokens of love on Valentine's Day! Of course the flowers are the property of the original purchasers, whose intent was that they would make festive a memorial service, then the grave-site.

You know what I should do? I ought to go nosing around a funeral home. I could show up during a funeral, then slip into the back room and watch through the curtains. While everyone else's eyes are bleary from tears, I'm wide-eyed and alert. I can see the flowers, what all there is. Then as the mourners file out, I watch for the morticians to start skimming. Plus, I'm listening. "This flower looks great, this one will fetch a pretty penny, I might keep this one for myself," etc. The wife, normally upstairs doing bookkeeping, is the go-between, helping stash away the flowers before anyone notices.

Or, my other plan might be to show up at a funeral home -- have some business cards printed, "Floral Wholesaler" -- and present myself to the mortician. Naturally, I'm looking to cut a deal. The guy's nervous, he hasn't seen me before. But obviously I know more about the scam than the average guy. And I'm flipping a coin. His denials won't hold up, because I'll keep pressing him, telling him, "You either play ball or they'll be buying flowers for your funeral, and I mean full price!" I honestly can play hardball, especially if my sense of justice is riled up, as it is on this issue.

I love the above graphic. I think it really drives the point home. Look at the expression of professional grief on the schmuck's face. It's Valentine's Day, and he's portrayed handing out flowers to sexy women in their underwear, you'd think he could manage a smile. But no, he's a professional frowner, looking a lot like an underpaid, unappreciated butler, so even naked ladies don't move him. Then we have the women themselves. They're not the least bit suspicious why a frowning mortician would be handing them a flower. They're just gung ho for flowers, they don't care where they come from!

But I care. This is the honest to God truth: In the last year I have personally sent two big floral arrangements to people's funerals. You ever do that? It costs a fortune. I bet they were $60 apiece. The last thing I want is to have these damned morticians -- very unethical -- reselling them on Valentine's Day. To me, that's simply wrong.