If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm nuts about my little, redneck, backward-ass hometown. My family has farmed the same ground there for over 150 years. I'm homesick a lot. Especially in the fall and spring.
I've made sure there are ample funds for my final expenses to fly my dead ass home so that I can be buried in the same cemetery as the rest of my family and not end up stuck for all eternity in this moldy swamp.
Anyway, around the time my son was born, I was thinking about and planning for such things and one day I stopped by the cemetery and asked the sexton how urgent it was that I buy plots.
He said there was enough capacity to last at least 100 years. Thus assured, I put it out of my mind.
However, a year or so ago, I saw an article in the paper that spoke about the quickly dwindling cemetery space and the need to start a brand new one on the outskirts of town.
Holy shnikeys! I was upset! I want to be buried with my family and I want to be buried in the cemetery next to the high school football field! That way I can climb out of my grave on chilly fall Fridays and listen to the games.
So when I opened my birthday card from my wife, I was thrilled to find that she had purchased two of the remaining plots in my cemetery of choice!
Really weird, huh? Well, I thought it was awesome! In fact, she gave me the gift early so that when I went to Illinois last week, I could go check out the plots myself. Which I did. I grabbed the owner of the funeral home (a guy I've known all my life) and took him to the cemetery and we showed my where I'm going to be buried.
And I made him take pics to show my wife!