Wednesday, October 26, 2011

How I Feel About It All Tonight

When I die I have no idea what they will say
Or what they will remember me for but if truth be told
It should go something like this-

She peeled and sliced one million onions and set them to cook in an iron skillet
She chopped one hundred thousand peppers and did the same.
She peeled ten million cloves of garlic and insinuated them into food and
Oh honey.
Add them to the potatoes.

Also, she held up two hundred thousand towels to her chest, folded them over
In one deft motion, then
Thirded them and set them down, folded and ready for use.
She hung clothes on the line as an art form
She kept track of hangers and of the levels of dishwashing detergent, also toilet paper.
She fed the dogs, cats and chickens before she'd drunk her first cup of coffee every morning,
She read the opinion pages with the greatest interest.
She kept the sheets clean.
She changed and washed approximately ten million diapers and she hung half of those on a line.
She swept and she scoured and she cleaned the toilets.
She forgot to wear perfume and she loved jewelry.

Mostly, though, those onions and towels. Mostly though,
She got up every day and she almost never, never
Let the towels go unfolded, the onions go unsliced and she never
God dammit,
Let the dogs or cats or chickens go unfed.

Not once.
Also. She read a lot of books.

That's a long obituary, but it would be pretty accurate.


  1. In other words, she lived a good life and was well-loved by all.

    Well, Ms. Moon we still have a few years to go yet, be that good or bad. Personally, my world is happier with you as part of it.

  2. I can think of a lot more things that could be added, but that was a beautiful poem-obit. (Hopefully not to see the newspaper print for several more decades.)

  3. She knew shit. She knew good shit, bad shit, funny shit, silly shit, cute shit, she knew it all. And she wrote about that shit so everybody understood what the shit she was talking about. She was hot shit. And everybody loved her.

    No shit.

  4. Now that's the kind of truth I like to hear.Who chopped the fucking onions? Who made it happen every day? You do (will have did!)

  5. And she loved her family with every pore of her being. She wrote a blog and made people all over the world feel better about life.

  6. Not bad as obits go. I always thought it was a poor job on the part of the designer to make us have to eat so often. All those hours every day devoted to preparing, eating, and cleaning after. Even though I have found enjoyment in all three, just as often it seemed a chore.

  7. I suspect that you are much more than onions--acting, wonderful grandmother and mother, beloved member of the community, great writer are just a few that I think describe you. Who cares about the onions--they just make people cry.

  8. I think that's a fine obit. I really do. It's a whole lot better than: She paid someone to clean her kids' dirty diapers and then hang them on the line. She also paid someone to cut up her food and cook it for her while she sat around painting her nails. She let her animals starve to death and watched a lot of television.

  9. That is truly a damn fine obituary. It makes me laugh. What can be better then that? Making people laugh with memories? It also sounds a lot better then taking photographs and be rude ... ;o))

  10. Well it's pretty, but I'm fairly sure there's more to it than that :)

  11. You left out - and did it all with raging love in her heart.

  12. A damn fine obituary. You made the everyday poetic and noble, infused with love.

    I need to buy more onions.


  13. I think it's a fine obit too. Let's all write one for ourselves! My gifted English teacher would have us do things like that and would then get in trouble. Let us get in trouble writing our obits!

  14. So much you don't mention, but I love this prose-poem.

    Do you know Brecht?

    Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
    The books are filled with names of kings.
    Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
    And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
    Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
    That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
    In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
    Where did the masons go?

  15. This is what I say to the dog and cats when I hear the garbage truck outside. I say: Nobody would miss me in my job if I didn't turn up for a week or two, but EVERYONE would be screaming and hollering if the garbage guys didn't show up to work for a week or two.

    My point is that those who do the practical chores in life do the biggest service of all. The world will live if I stop creating documentation. Not so for the work you do. Your work is service, and that is the highest and best calling.

    I love you.

  16. She blogged devotedly. Spread wisdom as plentiful as those potatoes and tomatoes.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.