Maybe “Problems” would be more fitting word to use than “Perils.” I don’t know, but its aggravating and annoying, to say the least.

Dying is the last act of living. Its natural, its expected, its mandatory, its not always welcome, though sometimes it is welcome, but its gonna happen to you, and there is nothing you can do about it, and that’s a fact. 

I remember an old West Texas saying from the Dirty Thirties. There are three things you are gonna do, cannot escape doing. Live, Pay Taxes, and Die. Probably in about that order.

Hey, when you get almost 88 years old like yours truly, you better be getting your house in order, because any day could be your last. Lets see, 88 years makes about thirty two thousand days. My old ticker has ticked a lot of times in thirty two thousand days. Lets figure how many beats. 32,000 days X 24 hours X 60 minutes X 60 beats equals about “whoops” my China made calculator just blew up, went up in smoke, and it usta go to a Billion. Remembering all those times my old ticker was beating too rapidly from being overly excited. Which was often. Too often. 

So my old ticker, which is still beating strong, has pumped my blood over one Billion beats? Dang, why can’t they make car parts last like that?

Okay, that could be a hint I could be a candidate for the next load. So I better get my ducks in order. I started looking for a Crematorium in the Texarkana area, using the Internet. 

Planning ones own cremation is probably a wise thing to do. My son Larry is an attorney, and busy enough in his courtroom drama trials without being bothered by my petty problems of self demolition. 

I phoned the fanciest funeral home in Texarkana and asked the man how much for a simple no frills cremation, with a pine box urn. The guy said, sir, you need an urn that lasts a long time. And we can do it for five thousand dollars. 

“Five thousand dollars? I didn’t want to buy the joint. I just wanted to use your furnace for awhile. Pine box is okay. You afraid my ashes are going to turn to ashes?” I’m not sure what happened when he hung up, but I suspect he needs a new phone. And for five thousand dollars, he can afford lots of new phones. 

I phoned a place that I’m familiar with in Texarkana. The building has peeling paint all over. I found they went out of business, filed bankruptcy and reopened with new ownership. I don’t know about that place. They could dump me down a deep abandoned well, fill a pine box with campfire ashes, and mail it to my family. 

Stranger things than that happens all the blessed time. You ever watch the TV show, “Forensic Files,” on HLN channel? Scary. I don’t know what HLN stands for, but it could be Here Lies Nelly. And if you see a show there, titled “The Perils of Dying,” you better watch it.

Then I saw a picture ad that stated “Simple Cremation $669. full cost.” My kind of Crematory. My mouse pointer jumped to it like a duck on a June Bug. I had the name and price, couldn’t find an address or local phone number. After a few minutes of detective work, using Google, I finally found the business address, a thousand miles away, in South Carolina. So I would have to pay taxi service plus the $669. full cost. Might as well use the guy in Texarkana with the broken phone. 

Well, I will keep working on this problem. And unless I find myself missing in action, on my way to “Sweet Beulah Land,” I’ll get her done. Stay tuned. Sweet dreams. 

“America, love it or leave