Recipes and More On Tombstones

 A NY Times article covered a fairly new trend: people having their favorite family recipes engraved on tombstones. The author came across one accidentally when looking for a relative’s grave. That led her to search the cemetery for other examples and she found quite a few. It turns out folks have written books and e-zines with recipes found on memorials.

 

I don’t have a single recipe that would merit being engraved in granite. My mother was a fabulous baker; dozens of her recipes are tombstone worthy. She’s buried in a family plot and her personal marker is a small flat stone with barely enough room for her name and dates. My husband and I plan to be cremated and have yet to decide what instructions to leave for the disposition of our ashes. So I really don’t have a need for a recipe for posterity.

 

Needless to say, that didn’t stop me from pondering what I might want to appear above my remains, were I interred in a cemetery under a large stone marker. The first thing that came to mind was a limerick, some clever little rhyming ditty. I’d normally write something bawdy, but that would limit where it could go. Absent my usual snark, dark humor or blue language, I doubt anything I wrote would cut the mustard against a good recipe. Then again…

Here lie the remains of a lass

Who opted to turn them to ash.

She was incensed to learn that an oversized urn

Would be needed to hold her broad a**.

 

I’d love to have a clever cartoon mark my finally resting place. Maybe I could hire Gary Larsen to draw a Far Side style one that would showcase my humor. He’s so clever and I’ve always admired his use of language. He started creating cartoons again about two years ago. He’s five years younger than I am, but it might be wise to contract for my cartoon before I’ve moved on to the Rainbow Bridge.

 

I’d love to include all the cats I’ve adopted over the years in my final plans. I’ve had each of them cremated and my intention is to comingle their ashes with mine. My husband will also have his cremains in the mix, but we’ve never worked out the logistics. If I last at least five more years, I’ll probably have ten feline children with me. Counting me and Jagdish, that would be a dozen names to memorialize. I could commission an elaborate Indian mandala to incorporate them. I’ll bet that would attract a lot of attention in a cemetery.

 

Here’s another idea that’s more personal. I could list my favorite themes for tree trimming parties I’ve held. They might inspire graveyard wanderers. I made special invitations each year. The invite for my Potpourri Trim included small sachets that I filled with pine scented dried flowers. There was the Teddy Bears’ Trim, with the invitation based on their picnic song. Tulip and Daisy, my cats at the time, were jealous. So the next year I had a Cats’ Trim.

 

Eventually, I co-owned a house with a man who had an awesome collection of vintage model trains. When he set up his elaborate layout, we celebrated with the C M and E Railroad trim, using our initials and our version of the Pufferbellies song. “Down in the basement early in the morning, see the little pufferbellies all in a row. See the station master turn a little handle. Puff puff, toot toot, off they go.”

 

One of my last trims held in Providence had a Cozy Slippers theme. A few of our guests actually wore their slippers, which I really appreciated. Most came in their street shoes. That was disappointing. It’s not like I asked them to wear pajamas, after all, although that could have been a fun theme, too. I had dozens of trims over the years, but those I mentioned here are the ones that I feel are tombstone worthy.

 

Somewhere in this essay could be an idea that you’ll find helpful the next time you have to decide what to put on a gravesite marker. It’s never too soon to plan for the inevitable. Why not get creative about what you’ll leave for posterity?

 

Copyright 2022 Business Theatre Unlimited

Retirement Transitions - Forced Feeding

As my husband and I inch closer to the final stage of our transition into retirement (the actual downsize to a Vermont condo,) we’re seeing changes to our usual daily patterns. When I was still working, we ate dinner together perhaps once a month. In the final weeks before the house was listed for sale, Jagdish began spending one weekday at home, helping me prepare for the listing. We would then have dinner together and he’d head off to his store for the evening.

Last week, his car once again developed problems with the starter. (He’s had two put in over the last few months.) Turns out, there’s a massive oil leak that has been dripping onto the starter and finally killed it off. We debated whether to even bother fixing the car, since we’ll be trading it in for a more weather-worthy Subaru once me make the move. Jagdish decided to spring for the fix, but our service center can’t get to the oil job until next week.

This has led to another change in how we schedule the day. I’ve been driving him to work in the morning. I go back for him shortly before the national news comes on at night. We have dinner together as we watch the news. After dinner, he takes my car back to his store so he can drive himself home at midnight. (Or whenever he decides to tear himself away from his muse of choice.)

We both agree that it’s a pleasant change to be spending this time together. It’s also providing a good test run for how our life will be once we’re in Vermont. I see it as “forced feeding.” Right now, we have no choice about eating together twice a day. Soon that will become three times a day.

When the novelty wears off, will we both be looking for excuses to run errands and book meetings at meal times? More likely, we’ll be wearing matching his-and-hers aprons and experimenting with exotic cuisine in our condo’s kitchen. For two people who never cook, we have a considerable number of cookbooks. Their spines have never been cracked, but that will change.

I can see it now: I’ll specialize in recipes that include wine; he’ll do the ones that incorporate Indian spices. We’ll force feed our test concoctions to one another before we inflict them upon our guests.

Consider yourself warned, if you’re one of those planning to visit us. If you’re expecting to use gluten intolerance as an excuse to pass up one of our specialties, forget it. We’ll have that covered, too.