I drove through a cemetery just now. I’ve noticed it several times when I’d go in that section of town. It looks peaceful, off by itself, but not so far away as to be forgotten . . . I had noticed when driving by that headstones were allowed. That’s one thing I hope to have . . . a nice headstone for my burial plot. I’ve told my sons what happens to me after death is their problem . . . up to them . . . majority rules . . . there are three of them and they can vote and decide and keep themselves busy after I’m gone . . . making arrangements . . . but I seriously hope I can handle some of those chores for them. I don’t want to tell them until things are settled. So I drove through an attractive cemetery just now to check out the “lay of the land”, so to speak. I don’t even know if they have any vacancies. I did find the cemetery listed on the town’s website and it tells how much a grave costs and how to reserve one . . . I think I will try to buy two, side by side, in case one of my sons needs a place to lay his head and doesn’t have one . . . With one of them, I won’t name him, but he’s been trying to escape my clutches for years and I can just imagine our reunion, if he’s buried beside me . . . I will whisper “what’s up?” and he’ll tell me to mind my own business . . . sorry, but my son’s welfare is and always will be my business . . . so I will try to get two graves side by side and hope two out of three of my sons will have their own final arrangement plans . . . We’ll see how this all works out. I do like this town where I now live. I loved Wilmington, but the hurricanes that might come in the future . . . the largeness of the town itself . . . I like this place better as far as eternity goes. I have a free plot . . . a place for four at an old cemetery in Beaufort County. It’s behind an old church where my great grandfather once preached. Providence Methodist Church was the name of the place, and it’s in Chocowinity, NC, Indian name, excuse me, Native American name of the small, small town – in case you’re wondering. I don’t want to be buried there, if I can help it. Lots of reasons. I won’t explain right now but some of my other writings might give a clue . . . if anyone cares to know. I have recently been determined disabled, although I don’t want to accept that label. That, along with my ah-hmmmm age, makes me think maybe it’s time to find a final resting place. I could be cremated. I have no clue what my sons would want. To urn, or not to urn . . . that is the question. Well, for now, I’ve found a nice cemetery and will see if they have any available plots that are to my liking. If I find one, that will be one less things for those three to argue about . . . not that they ever argue . . . three boys growing up together . . . do they ever argue? One majored in Philosophy in college. He is a Master Arguer and you can’t win, so just go along for the ride, like I do . . . arguing just to entertain him, ha, ha. I thought selecting a grave site would be depressing, but I found it interesting . . . as in “there’s a lovely spot” . . . calm and peaceful . . . mostly shaded. We’ll see what’s available and what we can work out. If not here, then maybe somewhere else. There’s no hurry . . . I hope.