The one thing we ALL have in common...

The Reaper family, Grim, Marge and baby Bradley   (*permissions below)

We'll never make it out of this world alive... unless you're the first one, of course. Some of us live too short. Some of us live too long. Many, like baby bear, live 'just right.'  Longest lived family, if you accept the bible's account, has to be Adam and Eve. I think their last name had to be Smith since there are so many in the phone book.

Adam celebrated his 930th birthday says the bible ("Your wish will come true if you blow out all the candles in one breath... " ) but didn't beget his first child, Cain, until he was in his hundreds. And look how he turned out. 

A Jewish translatation credits Adam and Eve with 33 sons and 23 daughters--56 in all.  Eve lived about as long as Adam but it must have seemed like thousands to her. Imagine having your first child when you are over 100... then having 55 more. Longest lived is Methuselah at 969 years. "I can't believe it," said a friend, "you don't look a day over 900." 

So the Grim Reaper does his job and "poof," you're dead. Then ya' gotta' get rid of the body. That's an earth-y thing pretty much out of your hands unless you have expressed yourself before you-know-what. (If you want to read something interesting on the subject, check out Stiff, a most unusual non-fiction paperback by Mary Roach that made the NYTimes bestseller list for a while.)  

For those who know what they want, some funeral directors will do it your way. And 'your way' could be kind of unusual.

One woman wanted to be remembered as she lived. So after she died, she was posed in a room sitting at a familiar table decorated with  miniature New Orleans Saints helmets, an ash tray, a deck of cards and a framed photo. She was wearing sunglasses and smartly dressed in a denim jacket with Saints emblems, a yellow scarf around her neck. There was an open can of Busch beer by one hand and a menthol cigarette between the fingers of her other, just as she had spent a good number of her living days. "My, doesn't she look wonderful?" And so she did.

Elsewhere, a paramedic was displayed in uniform behind the wheel of his ambulance. One man was posed sitting cross-legged, dressed like Che Guevara with a cigar in his hand. These are referred to as  'Fun Funerals."

A boxer was propped up in a fake boxing ring, ready for the bell. Then there was the biker who chose to be towed to the cemetery in a plexiglass coffin with him astride his Harley... and that's how he was buried. There have been champagne drinkers and guys standing with their life-long cane, looking as jaunty as ever.

But don't get the impression these are tasteless efforts.  "The family literally suffers less, because they see their loved one in a way that would have made them happy... (and) they still look alive," says one funeral director.

Who wouldn't want to remember mother (or Big Grandma to me) in her favorite rocker? I had my emotional thrill (and I'm not kidding) when, at age 5 or 6, I saw my beloved great-grandmother smiling at me from her favorite chair--three months after she died! "Why Big Grandma," I asked with absolute delight... and I can still hear myself saying it, "What are you doing here?" She didn't answer, but held her arms out to me. I turned to mom, dad and sis, who were just coming up the porch steps, and shouted,  "Hey everyone, Big Grandma is here!"  When I looked back, she was gone--but she WAS THERE for me. I'll remember that, with love, and be grateful for the rest of my life.

*NON SEQUITUR ©2014 Wiley Ink, Inc..  Dist. By UNIVERSAL UCLICK.  Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

Death never comes easy in the movies

I saw a guy die once... actually, a guy, his girlfriend and a fetus. He was 'hot-dogging' and tried to pass a car--his sister's car-- on a hill.  I saw it all through my windshield as I was driving toward him up the other side, about 50 yards below the crest. With a ditch and wall on my right, I was 'frozen' in place. He was coming at me, head-on, at a police-estimated 70 mph. When he realized he had to do something, he sped up and took a violent right, over-correcting onto the shoulder. When he pulled left, trying to save it and have a great story to tell the guys at the shop, he lost a wheel and T-boned my vehicle.

His story died right there, just a few feet in front of me. Mine, blessedly, did not. Whole thing, start of finish, took 5 seconds, max. Death in the blink of an eye.

Now in the movies, it's a different story... especially if you are Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger or Chucky. Yep, the super creeps of horror movies. (Wired magazine did the heavy research-- 41 originals and sequels in total.)


Jason, of Friday the 13th fame, drowns, takes a machete to the shoulder, an ax to the head and re-drowns (can you do that?). He falls into toxic waste, is stabbed with a mythical dagger and dragged to hell. You'd think that would do it... but NO! He is blown to pieces, stabbed with a fireplace poker and ejected into space. Dead? Don't bet on it. Latest sequel count, 11 plus the original.

Michael Meyers in Halloween is knitting-needled (Viola! A new verb, created by me) in the head, coat-hangered (Another! I'm on a roll) in the eye, is shot six times, falls two-stories, is shot five times, shot in both eyes, blown up, hit by a truck, thrown from a car, beaten with a pipe, stabbed with two knives, falls from a balcony, is thrown through a windshield, is pinned between an ambulance and a tree then decapitated with an axe... and if that isn't enough, he is impaled on spikes and stabbed in the face and chest. Whew! In the original and 10 sequels, dying is such hard work.

Freddy Krueger of Nightmare on Elm Street fame is burned alive, sledge-hammered in the stomach, burned again, ignored (Oh no! Not ignored.), is splashed by holy water (and doesn't make the sign-of-the-cross), is buried in sacred ground, torn apart by souls of victims released from the dead, pipe-bombed in the chest, trapped in a furnace, decapitated, had his hand-severed and has his throat slit. Shame... he was the chatty one. All this happened in the original movie and 13 sequels!

Chucky of Chucky fame, the darned cutest of them all, is burned in a fireplace, cuts off his own legs to escape being impaled, is covered in molten plastic, has his head blown up, his face cut with a scythe, is shot and chopped up in a fan. This in only the original and 4 sequels... which makes Chucky a mere rookie in the Crazed and Impossible to Kill Killers Hall of Fame. Can't wait to see the next sequel.

The bad guys never die easy, or at all. And the good die young... but of course, they are not great box office. So I guess it makes sense.

Does the name Wham-O ring a bell?

How about Whirlo-Way or Pluto Platter? Well, those were the two early 1950 names given perhaps the most famous... most simple toy ever invented... but it didn't take off (pun intended) right away. The inventor, World War II fighter pilot Fred Morrison, created the disc that he later licensed to Wham-O Manufacturing Company. When Wham-O marketed the Pluto Platter in 1957, they called it the Frisbee after an East Coast pie company who's plates had been used for just that purpose. And now, as Paul Harvey used to say, you know the rest of the story. Frisbee's sales soared (another pun...get it?)  into the hundreds of millions, and it became a counter-culture phenomenon, often seen in the hands of movie stars and famous personalities.

"It is impossible to fathom the impact Fred Morrison has had on the world through the invention of such a simple object..." said the executive director of the World Flying Disc Federation, a non-profit governing body for all competitive things Frisbee. (Aside: My brother-in-law was a card-carrying member #162 of the International Frisbee Assoc. in 1968... he showed me the card!  It shows you, among other things, he is pretty old.... and still a kid at heart,)

As a teen, Morrison had a fascination with flying disks, throwing popcorn lids and cake pans on the Santa Monica beach. One time, a stranger watching offered to buy his cake pan for a quarter. "At that time cake pans cost about a nickel," he wrote in his memoir... and a business was born, then interrupted and almost killed-off by World War II. His P-51 mustang was shot down over Italy in 1945 and he was a POW until the war's end.

Using the aerodynamic knowledge he acquired as a pilot, he refined his model and gave demonstrations at county fairs and stores selling his product. Often, amazed onlookers supposed the disk's unusual flight was caused by unseen wires. He became frustrated when purchasers couldn't get the same results he did because people just didn't know how to throw it. He began printing instructions on the bottom of each "Pluto Platter" which he manufactured, with little bumps, to simulate the "flying saucers from space" that had the public's attention at the time.

Tired and disappointed by a lack of consumer enthusiasm, he licensed the Pluto Platter  to Wham-O in 1957. It was Wham-O that came up with the Frisbee name. "I thought it was stupid," he said.  But it sold... and sold... and sold. And still does. I found seven in my house just today... four for throwing and three purchased as dog toys.

Morrison died this past week at age 90... but his Frisbee will live forever.

His death leaves big shoes to fill... and other '09 departures you may have missed.

Coco the clown, a circus favorite and the man who helped create Ronald McDonald (and played Ronald in the early commercials for the fast-food giant), died at age 86. "He was very serious about being funny," said the president of the International Clown Hall of Fame. Coco made folks laugh for more than 80 years. He could handle 16-foot stilts and take a pie in the face as well as anyone... except maybe Soupy Sales, who also died this year. Makes you wonder... what in the heck are we going to do with all those custard pies now? His death leaves big shoes to fill... size 39-EEEEEE actually.

Bill Lister, the man billed as "Radio's Tallest Singing Cowboy," also died at age 86.  He will long be remembered for that old favorite, "There's a Tear in My Beer," or not. He was 11 feet, 9 inches tall... (or 6 feet, 7 inches without his gun).

We also lost Benson, the world's biggest carp. He died at 87 pounds.

His Highness, Giorgio Carbone died at age 73. In 1963, he proclaimed himself the Prince of Seborga,  the only leader the 320 people in that 'mini-state' have ever known. Claimed by Italy, Seborga sits at its nearest point to Nice. It has been recognized by the Vatican as an independent state which has never formally been made part of any country. The Seborgan army consists of a single individual, in a ceremonial uniform (with epaulettes no less!), who served as His Highness's personal 'gofer' and bodyguard. Since Seborga pays taxes to Italy, the Italians don't really care what Seborga calls itself. His Serene Highness Giorgio I (his self-named official title) was beloved by his people.

Waldo Hunt, the man who invented the pop-up book, died at age 89. True to his creation 'til the end, Hunt kept "popping up" every time they tried to place him in his casket, causing great consternation among the 'neatnik' morticians.

The smile died in Arkansas, Indiana, Nevada and Virginia this past year as those states forbade drivers to smile for their license photos. Smirks, however, might be 'snuck in' when no one is looking.

Actress Jennifer Jones who won an Oscar for her portrayal of Bernadette in the 1943 movie, The Song of Bernadette, died at age 90. The real Bernadette, a French peasant girl who saw the Virgin Mary at Lourdes, was cannonized a saint by the Catholic Church in 1933. It was reported that Jones, playing Bernadette, actually had a personal revelation on the set of that movie... She felt a spirit telling her, "You are going to die." Then, just last week, the spirit came again to her and said, "See. I told you so." (Please tell me God has a sense of humor.)

Harold Bell, the marketing agent for the "Lassie" show, died at age 90. He is better remembered as the man who created the character Woodsy Owl, the plump bird in a red-feathered hat who told children to "Give a hoot, don't pollute."

Frank Coghlan Jr. died at 93. Who? The kid who played Captain Marvel's alter-ego, Billy Batson, of course. It is Billy Batson who meets a shaman in Siam who teaches him to transform himself into our superhero, Captain Marvel. Coghlan was the  perfect example of a homeless waif, said Cecil B. DeMille who directed the Captain Marvel serials in 1925. And when Billy Batson saw injustice, he said the magic word which transformed him, through a bolt of lightning, into CAPTAIN MARVEL! The magic word was S-H-A-Z-A-M which stood for - the wisdom of Soloman - the strength of Hercules - the stamina of Atlas - the power of Zeus - the courage of Achilles - the speed of Mercury. His powers included super strength, of course, speed, stamina, physical and magical invulnerability, courage and wisdom... the usual stuff. While Billy Batson was a young, crippled newspaper boy with a crutch, Captain Marvel became this Arnold Schwarzenegger-like Adonis in a red, tightly-fitted outfit with a big yellow M on his chest, a flowing red cape with yellow piping and knee length yellow boots. What a guy? My favorite power... lightning. He could control lightning. You shoulda seen him smite those bad guys. Good night Captain Marvel, or as they say in comic land, M-A-Z-A-H-S (Shazam backwards, of course.)

And finally, Claude Levi-Strauss died shortly before his 101st birthday. Known by many as the man who shaped Modern Anthropology and revered by all, he often lamented the disappearance of a simpler time. " We live in a world where I feel out of place. The one that I knew, that I loved, had 1.5 billion inhabitants. The world today is made up of six billion humans.  It is no longer mine."

I can relate to that.