...I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.
Okay, that's it for the heavy biblical references, from here on out it is going to get quite irreverent. I bet you are wondering...where the hell is Dan taking this...?
As many of you may know, or not know, no, this isn't a test, just me being in a somewhat playful
mood, I no longer wear my wedding ring. I officially took it off at the 7 month anniversary. Why you ask? What was the significance of the 7th month? Well, there is the 'seven times seventy seven meaning. Oh, yeah, I wasn't going to go biblical on you again. Sorry. There is the seven pounds of flesh, as used in the Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare, the seven deadly sins, seven wonders of the world, and yes, Snow White had her entourage of seven short in stature men. What was the real reason? None other than the fact that I wanted to kind of dole out the various changes that one would expect at the one year anniversary. I wanted to take away from it being such a big momentous occasion, where I attach too much meaning to it. The other real reason is that I have never been one to wear jewelry. When we got married I was quite stressed about needing to wear a ring. They always feel so foreign on my finger. I end up playing with it all day long. So it now sits on the bookshelf, right next to Michael's ring, which is right next to Michael.
Michael's ashes sit in a beautiful hand crafted ceramic urn that a local artist made. You can find a picture of it on my Dia de los Muertos post. For those not familiar with the holiday, it is on November 1st.
Now, since I no longer wear my ring, I have been feeling like I am missing that physical connection to Michael that the ring gave to me. So for a week or so I put the ring back on, but eventually put it back on the shelf. I gave my dilemma some careful consideration, and came to the decision to buy myself a different piece of jewelry, something I can wear around my neck. I bought a beautiful sterling silver rectangle urn. I know many other widow(er)s have one of these, but it did strike me kind of strange. I am wearing my dead husband around my neck. I usually don't wear anything around my neck either, as it feels like it will choke me in my sleep. Michael had a very strange sense of humor, and he did say he would try his best to come back for me. I wonder if he had something to do with me feeling the nudge to make this purchase. Maybe he is thinking of this silver necklace as more of a noose. After all, the urn came with a complimentary 20" Rope Chain. Hmmm? What caused me to choose this? Did I choose? Or, was it chosen for me?
It's already purchased, and already around my neck. If perhaps I don't wake up in the morning one of you can tip off the police about the likely set up.
Okay, so I had this silver rectangular urn for several days now. About an hour ago I decided it was time to get Michael into this urn where he belongs. Now Michael was not exactly a small guy, and the hole that he was to go through was extremely tiny. For much of the years we were together Michael had been wanting to lose some weight, you know eat well, hit the gym more often. Well, I bet he wished he had done it now. The screw on the back of the urn was so tiny. It didn't come with anything to open it. Fortunately I happened to have an eye glass repair kit, which included the tiniest of tiny screw drivers. Okay Michael, we are back in business. I laid out all the tools for this project, which included a tiny clear plastic bag of Michael's ashes. If anybody had walk in on me they would have found me bent over a small white table, with a white granule powder, and some tiny tools that I was using to further crush the powdery substance. Now I'm not saying I ever did any illegal drugs in my day, but if I did, I would have to say that this looked a lot like a coke addict getting his fix. It's a damn good thing that my son Remy didn't walk in on this, right?
The urn comes with a tiny little teeny weeny itsy bitsy funnel, along with a complimentary everyday toothpick meant for shoving Michael's ashy ass down the funnel. Well, for those of you not familiar with human ash, no not ass, but ash, it is very grainy. The cylinder part of this funnel was about the size of a needle. So, there I was following the directions, pouring a bit of Michael into the funnel, and poking him with that toothpick. I mean I was really going to town. I kind of built up a rhythm with that toothpick, poking and poking at Michael's ash, but it was not going down! That's when I thought about the biblical saying about the rich man's chance of getting into heaven. Now Michael was far from rich, or was he? Maybe there is some Swiss account I don't know of. This is all getting a bit suspicious. When the toothpick failed me I went in for the kill. I got me a nice sewing needle. Once again, I picked up my previous rhythm, poking and poking at Michael. After a while I had more of Michael on my hands, on the table, and on my shirt. I mean, Michael was every where. I picked up my beautiful silver rectangle urn, turned it over, and found that Michael had scratched it up! Damn him!
I didn't know what to do. The kind people at Memorial Gallery, where I ordered the urn, left me a phone number that I could call with any questions. Yet, they seemed to forget that I am a man. We don't ask for help. Shit, we barely read directions. So what was I to do? Now Michael's ash was stuck in the cylinder part of the funnel. Like any clear minded, and desperate person would do, I blew him. I huffed and puffed, but Michael wasn't having this. He could be a very stubborn man. Just ask his mother. Eventually after some more poking, blowing, and banging him on the table, I got Michael out of there. I thought to myself, that's it! You already got all over me. You scratched my beautiful silver rectangle urn. You are damn well going to get into there if it's the last thing that I do! I took some of Michael's ashes into my own hands. Now, Michael was also a very sensitive kind of guy. He liked to be handled gently. No rough play for him, which was a damn pity for me. So, without taking his feelings into consideration, I pinched off a bit of Michael and began shoving his ash into the back of that urn. Get the hell in there!
I'm really a very sweet and gentle man. Well, maybe not as sweet and gentle as Michael was, but I can be gentle when I need to be. But when push comes to shove, well, I'm going to win.
Now that I am quite composed, and I am wearing this beautiful, and tasteful, piece of memorial jewelry, I am going to saunter over to the mirror to admire myself, along with Michael's ash, hanging from my neck. Tonight he may have the last laugh if by chance his ash is too heavy for my neck. and I begin to choke. I can't say that I would mind exactly, as I have always been quite fond of Michael's ass-sh.