A dirty ending

Last night I had a couple of friends over for a BBQ with the kids. A nice night, relaxing. Kids showing off and being overly dramatic and wired as kids do in front of company. A good night.


By the end of the night when it was only my friend Stephen and I left we happened to be discussing my dirt collection. Yes. I collect dirt. Not just on people, but actual dirt. In jars. I have dirt from all of the really interesting places I have travelled around the globe. Each little jar has a date and location from where the dirt comes from. Some of it is so beautifully unique like the red sands of Sedona and the crush blue shell of Vancouver. Some of it is remarkably the same like the rocky soil from Washington DC and Rome (which is interesting when you compare the similarities between the two cities.)

I have a plan for the dirt. It is for more than collecting dust. I mean after all, why would I want dusty dirt? Here is the plan:

When I die, I want to be cremated. I want my ashes mixed in with the dirt that I have collected along my life’s journey. Then I want the mixture put into little packages.

My memorial service should be by the ocean and every attendee should get a little package of me. (As my friend Sandy says, “Only you would have a gift bag…and it would be you.”) Then, I want each person to complete the following sentence, “I know Elliott loved me because….” (Not, “I loved Elliott because…”), then chuck me into the tide. It is important that this happens at high tide because at low tide the seagulls will eat me and then shit me on top of a Honda….that would not be the effect I am hoping for.