COLUMN: Getting a head start on funeral plans
After attending a funeral the other weekend, I started thinking about what my own funeral might entail. I figure I ought to plan it sooner rather than later, not because I think I am going to die anytime soon (knock on wood) but because when I go, inevitably, as we all will, I want my family and friends to be able to adhere to my nontraditional wishes. No conflict, no stress, no worries. Everything my funeral planners need to know will be written in this column for the ages to reference.
First of all, fellow funeral attendees, no drab-like, mournful colors shall be worn. OK? OK. No blacks, no grays, no browns. Nothing faded or dim. I want none of that. It is preferable that your outfits are mismatched, but what mostly matters is that bright, tacky and boldly patterned items of clothing are worn. Shiny sparkles? Funky textures? Tall toe socks? Wear them in my honor. Wear them loudly and wear them proudly. If you are not comfortable with this concept, a small accent of weirdness, such as a tacky tie or an antiquated monocle, is sufficiently acceptable.
At my service I do not want anyone to give a speech or sermon. I want none of that. Who knows what sort of hideous and ridiculous aspects of my life might be revealed? It is better that my zany life remain undercover in the memories of my funeral attendees. Also, talking is boring. So, funeral planners, scratch the talk.
Instead of scores of memorandums and epitaphs, I want music. Musical number after musical number. String quartets, barbershop quartets, chamber orchestras, jazz ensembles, cover bands, African drummers, nose flautists, bring it on. Also, I do not want random performers. Preferably, by this time in my life, I will have become a veteran music teacher and will have impacted thousands of musicians with my teaching. Yes, I want my students to run the show. And, if my mom is still around, I want her to play “The Lost Chord” on her accordion. If my cousin is still around, I want her to play “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” on her violin.
Not that I want my funeral to be a musical marathon. Though tempting, I will respect the attention spans of my funeral attendees. If I have to limit myself to one composer, I will pick Bach. Bach is the epitome of holy and heavenly. (Funeral planners, take note that this decision does not relieve my accordionist and fiddler from their prearranged obligations.)
Now for a place to perform. The problem with LDS chapels is that their acoustics stink. Their carpets are ultimate sound suckers. The benefit of LDS chapels is that their venue, I mean funeral space, is free. As I pondered this predicament for a while, because I am a cheapskate, as well as a picky musician, as well as LDS, as well as an indecisive decision-maker, I finally concluded that my funeral will be held in a cave. Caves are nature, and therefore free, unless they belong to a national or state park. Yes, the booming, bouncing sound of an unpopular cave will be perfect. I did consider holding my funeral in a bathroom, because the acoustics in bathrooms are pretty sweetly incredible, but I am not sure my attendees would appreciate sitting on toilets for the entire duration of my funeral. So, funeral planners, scratch the restroom idea.
Shoot, if I end up in Logan, I might as well hold my funeral in the Wind Caves. This means my funeral attendees will have to be physically fit enough to hike a few miles in order to memorialize my life, but it would be worth it, right? The panoramic view of Logan Canyon, accompanied by the sweet, pure sounds of Bach, as well as Sir Arthur Sullivan and Charlie Daniels, would be perfect.
My funeral attendees might as well be intellectually fit, too. Admittance to my funeral will equal one filled-out Sudoku puzzle or twelve-tone matrix. And I suppose we cannot have emotionally or spiritually disturbed individuals at my funeral either, so to weed them out, I will make each attendee do an act of service before they come. Pick up trash. Visit an elderly person. Volunteer at a Scholastic Book Fair. Perform the Heimlich Maneuver. Take a shower.
Funeral attendees, there is no need to go to a viewing and stare at my dead glove of a body. There might not even be a body. I might get sucked into a black hole. I might melt because water is thrown on me. I might be twinkled. I might be born into a higher caste. In reality, I hate going to viewings. Actually, I have never been able to build up the courage to witness a viewing. Ick. I keep my distance. So, I do not expect any of you to be brave enough to do so.
No need to cry about my passing. You can cry about the touching music being heard, but do not cry about my death. Remember my life. Can the soul of Melissa K. Condie cease to exist? Nope. Just like your soul, it is indomitable. My Melissa-spirit will be sitting directly on the front row, enjoying the show, eating Aggie Ice Cream (because there is food in heaven) and folding the program into an origami frog that jumps when its back is pressed. I am pretty sure I will be in good spirit company. Adam and Eve will be there, of course, because we are related. Theodore Roosevelt will be there because I wrote an outstanding report about him in fourth grade. Mahatma Gandhi will be there because his last name rhymes with my last name. So, pretty much, you will have nothing to cry about.
Melissa Condie is a senior majoring in music education. Leave your comment at aggietownsquare.com