It’s time.
Well past time, actually, to finally write the WILL that’s been looming over my head like Pooh Bear’s cloud. It’s a no-brainer, but one my husband and I have danced around for years.
“We should get it done,” we say.
Then, “Why haven’t we done this?! We have the paperwork right here!”
Still, the paperwork is shelved. Or misplaced, or put on the to-do list, the really important list that also gets lost. Same thing happened with my Donar card, which was bright pink and hard not to see in any drawer. Still, it made it’s way to the underside of the microwave, only to be discovered when we moved.
Then I lost it.
It’s not even subconscious. Signing the pink slip feels like signing over my eyeballs immediately. Maybe a higher power is just waiting for me to sign, at the ready to hand over my taxed liver and bacon wrapped heart to someone who will take better care of them. Herein lies the truth; I think I am not doing enough or making a bigger difference in the world, and somebody more deserving probably should have them.
(A residual effect of my Catholic upbringing…guilt can be applied in all directions).
I should be saving the environment! I should be working for Greenpeace! I should open a Pret a Mange’ in Vancouver so people can eat decent sandwiches for cheap! I should have made all that music that is in my head and painted all those paintings and started a shelter for the homeless and and and pant pant pant.
At which point I make myself a piece of toast and think, when am I going to stop eating so much bread? before I go about my usual day.
I am filling out the paperwork; we have an appointment to wrap it all up. Our kids won’t be wards of the Province. Put in your requests now for anything you might want, i.e. old punk rock cassette tapes, dog-eared books, the grape-cluster shaped sugar bowl. And I won’t forget the special request at the end. While I lived in London, a good friend worked for a solicitor, wrapping up all the paperwork and generally running the place. She told me about a fellow who requested (in his will) that clown noses be handed out at his funeral service. After all was said and done, Monty Python’s “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” would be played; the guest’s cue to don their bulbous facial appendage and sing their hearts out.
His will was carried out, all requests included, and he is my inspiration. I’m working out the final lines to the last curtain call, which I hope is a long way away, as I am still very much in need of my eyeballs.