Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 100 – yes, a one with two fat zeros. They told me the telegram from King Charles is on it’s way. We still are a monarchy. Australians don’t dare to offend the English. Now is not the time, is the slogan.
That I’m still alive is just a miracle. When I was born I had a live expectancy of only sixty-four years. Against all expectations, and daydreaming by my wife, I’m still here. She has been a strong blogger for a long time and in 2007 forecast that in 2017 I will be dead and buried. Her wishful thinking never came true. I’m still around and she is still blogging to her heart’s content. Mind you she is blind but she knows were the keys on the keyboard are. The other day she pronounced with heightened optimisms that I wouldn’t last forever. How true that will turn out to be. Betty is not always right, but I have to grant her this: I won’t be around for ever.
I still remember one day in twenty-twelve when she wanted to speed up things. Couldn’t wait for me to pass away. We need to make arrangements for when the time comes, she told me. We wouldn’t want to bother the children, would we?
It was a rainy day, just as it should be for a funeral. The Wollongong Memorial Gardens looked lush after the monsoonal downpour. It would be a suitable place to rest for eternity. Prices go up for the cremation by about twenty Dollar a year, they told us. The cost than would have been $670. That was twenty-three years ago. So now, in 2035, the cremation should cost almost double.. When hearing all this I made a quick calculation. If I put the original sum into an account with a yearly interest of 6%, compounded, I could be on a nice earner. What a rip off.
Yesterday the bank told me I have accumulated $2560, and I have no desire to bite the dust yet.
And then there is the small matter off putting the ashes somewhere. The ground costs money too or the kids take the ashes to the bush or the sea and dump me there. The only thing I have prepared is the music they have to play at my memorial service, Schubert’s Nocturne. I like that pensive, lyrical piece of music. Can’t get enough of it while I’m still alive.
Betty is in her room hammering out another fantasy story of being a widow. Nothing but wishful thinking. Surely, I can say that the report of my death was very untimely indeed. Let her write, while I listen and enjoy Schubert on You Tube. Tomorrow will be a hectic day with all those people congratulating me for my longevity.