Quote:
Originally posted by purse junkie
Cremation in my favorite pair of butt-ripped jeans and paint-covered t-shirt, scatter my ashes in the ocean where I grew up--I then expect an evening of major drunken carousing and booze-sodden tears from my friends. After that, drink a bottle of excellent champagne for me on my birthday and toast our good times.
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My great-aunt had to move back to Texas from the mountains a few years ago, because the altitude was killing her. (Actually, the emphysema and related heart problems were killing her, and SD, you'll be happy to hear she's a heavy drinker—preference is Johnny Walker black label, though she’ll accept red wine if we’re not drinking hard stuff—and has been so for most of her 87 years, the smoking is what is doing her in.) When she moved back, her health was extremely poor, and she started getting ready to die. She knew she wanted to be cremated, and she found out from the funeral home that unless she specified specific clothes, she would be cremated naked. So she sent her daughter out to find the fanciest pajamas available. Her daughter came back with these beautiful coral-pink silk pajamas that would have worked perfectly. Anyhow, the lower altitude helped, and my great-aunt started feeling better, and she never had an opportunity to wear the pajamas. Last year, we had a sleep-themed party, and everyone was encouraged to wear pajamas. She showed up in the pajamas she thought she’d be cremated in and looked great.
