Skip to main content

Here Lies.....

I'm still mulling over the details of my own funeral and whether or not I want to define them here and now. While I'm thinking, here is a list of epitaphs for inspiration:


  • "I don't want to talk about it now"--Bonnie Anderson

  • "That's All Folks"--Mel Blanc

  • "Called Back" --Emily Dickinson

  • "Steel True, Blade Straight"--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  • "...that nothing's so sacred as honor and nothing's so loyal as love"--Wyatt and Josephine Earp

  • "Murdered by a traitor and a coward whose name is not worthy to appear here"--Jesse James

  • "Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water"--John Keats

  • "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime "--Dean Martin

  • "I'll see you in apple blossom time "--Tip O'Neill

  • "Quoth the Raven nevermore"--Edgar Allan Poe
  • "The Best is Yet to Come"--Frank Sinatra
And to finish off the list, here is the epitaph from Russell Larson who is buried in Logan, Utah:

Two things I love most,
good horses and beautiful women,
and when I die I hope they tan this old hide of mine
and make it into a ladies riding saddle,
so I can rest in peace between the two things I love most.

Comments

hmmm being a ladies riding saddle sounds plenty good to me ;)

I finally made the switch to beta.. ahhh
Scout said…
Rich: Yeah, well, it sounds a little sick to me, but I thought you and a few others might like it.
Are you trying to say I'm a sick individual? and Whom are these "others" you mention? It's kind of funny... you're the one that gave me the idea in the first place. ;)
Better yet being Lizzy Borden and Nance O'neil's ridding saddle might have been fun.
Sassy Sundry said…
I told you I was sick.

Seriously, I like the Keats one.
Scout said…
Sassy, it is very fluid, isn't it. Pun not intended.

Rich, "the others" are the few people who check in and read everyday but don't comment. Poachers.
Old Knudsen said…
My epitaph is whats at the bottom on my Blog above my site meter,
'Now that you've read this f--k off', see Old Knudsen can behave in public.
Anonymous said…
Rob, what about, "In case of sudden rapture, please back away from this grave"?
Ball game tonight? Feels like a great night for high school football... know you love it.

Shannon
Anonymous said…
Hey, Shannon! No, ballgame tonight. It's an away game, and I have a rehearsal. I do love it!

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...