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I’ve always wished funeral homes had a sign saying who’s funeral was going on.

And maybe whose was coming up soon.

Then I wouldn’t have to buy a newspaper.

Is that morbid?


I found this article online and thought you would find it interesting. It may curb those chocolate cravings for a while.

Man Falls Into Vat of Chocolate, Dies

CAMDEN, N.J. (July 8) – Authorities say a man died after falling into a vat of melted chocolate in a New Jersey processing plant.
The Camden County prosecutor’s office identified the victim as 29-year-old Vincent Smith II of Camden. He was a temporary worker at the Cocoa Services Inc. plant.
The accident happened Wednesday morning as Smith was loading chocolate into a vat where it’s melted and mixed before being shipped elsewhere to be made into candy.
Prosecutor’s spokesman Jason Laughlin says a co-worker tried to shut off the machine and two others tried to pull Smith out of the 8-foot-deep vat. He was hit and fatally injured by the agitator that mixes the chocolate.
Cocoa Services hires a second company — Lyons and Sons — to do the mixing.
Oompa Loompas worked overtime to decontaminate the vat. (Like you didn’t see that joke coming)
There could be worse ways to go.
What’s the best/worst way to die?
(I can think of an obvious best)

My wife, Ginny, posed a strange yet interesting question the other night. When the Rapture takes place (Jesus comes back), what happens to people whose ashes are scattered in different places? This came up because her dad’s ashes are in an undisclosed lake in Florida, somewhere in Michigan, in our china cabinet, on the Great Barrier Reef, and who knows where else.

My quick answer, “I don’t know, go back to sleep.” But really, I don’t know. And I hadn’t thought much about it until then.

Now I have to think about souls and purgatory and Sheol and other stuff that hurts my head.

Then I think about people who get eaten by different sharks, and then the sharks swim off in different directions, and they get eaten by different animals that eat sharks, and the cycle never ends.

Then I punt and figure God’s way smarter than me and He’s probably already got this figured out.

Somebody tell me your thoughts on this whole process.

…but when I drive by a funeral home with a viewing going on, I wish they had a sign saying who died.

And if it was a really important person, maybe one of those 4-way skylight batman deals.

Anyway, that’s what goes through my head.

My wife is weird. (Great post to kick off Valentines Weekend, I know.) Let me explain.

She has determined that I am unable to live exist alone. Therefore, she has also determined that in the event she should perish, I need to remarry. I tried the whole, “Fool me once, shame on you….” line on her, but she didn’t find it funny.

I actually think she fears for the kids. Like if she died we’d revert back to cave days of eating uncooked macaroni off the floor and peeing outside. She even went so far as to pick out her replacement. Bequeathing me to someone upon her demise.

There is a wrinkle in her plan: “Plan B”,” Ginny 2.0″, “Wife: the Sequel” – whatever you want to call her – is now married. Now Ginny has to rewrite her will.

Anyway, that’s a glimpse into my world.

What crazy request does your spouse have when they die?

Note: Interested ladies can send a resume, pictures and five samples of food.

… a bittersweet time for me. First of all, I love being a dad. Ten years ago I would have punched you if you told me that I would feel that way. But it’s true. My kids are the greatest. I don’t remember what life was like without them, and I don’t want to.

Also, I love my dad. He is a great guy, and I know he loves me, too. (even though he’s too macho to show it) He’s always been there for me, and he’s always supported me.

However, it also stirs up memories for Ginny of her dad who passed away 6 months ago. I would like to say time heals all wounds, but that hasn’t been the case so far. Every day is a struggle, and there’s not much I can do to change that. The best I can do is love her, tell her, and show her. It kills me not to be able to repair the hurt she is feeling, or fill the emptiness she has right now. I can’t bring her dad back, and I can’t take his place. All I can do is try to love her like Christ loves the church, and I fail miserably every day.

Kids, give your dad a hug and tell him you love him. Even if it feels awkward. And dads, hug your kids and tell them you love them. Happy Father’s Day.

Ginny’s dad is on holiday in Australia. At least part of him.

One of our friends, Debbie, went to Australia on vacation and she took some of his ashes with her. She e-mailed me this morning to say g’day and to tell us that she left Ron’s ashes at the Great Barrier Reef. That’s cool and creepy all at the same time. I cried when I read the e-mail. I called Ginny later to tell her, and she cried. I cried again. I’m a big wuss.

BTW – You don’t need to comment about it not being him, only his body. I’m fully aware of the “absent from the body, present with the Lord” situation. But still, it’s kinda cool. I wonder where else Ron will end up.

I’ve been reading Tony Dungy’s autobiography, Quiet Strength,  with some guys from church. This is a great book. If you are a football fan, a parent, an African American, a female, whatever – it doesn’t matter.

I settled in last night to finish a chapter, and decided to continue reading. No big deal, the kids were occupied with a movie. So I got to Chapter 18. The chapter on his son who committed suicide. I didn’t make it halfway. I closed the book and had Josh climb in the chair with me and finish his movie while I cried. The kids had chocolate milk with dinner. At that point it didn’t matter. I hugged them extra long that night.

My friend, Josh, would always tell his Mom & Dad he loved them and kiss them goodbye. Always. Even if he was just going to the store and back. I didn’t get it.

I’m starting to get it.

This is super-heavy, so let me apologize up front.

I am usually funny & upbeat, but I found out the other day that my sister had a miscarriage. After about a month, month-and-a-half of pregnancy, she lost her child. I don’t want to think about it or imagine what that must feel like. BUT I HAVE TO. I have no choice. She is my sister, my little sister at that, and I have an obligation as a big brother to empathize with her. So as much as I hate to, I have to go to where she is, emotionally and mentally. It’s not a fun place to be.

I love my kids more than anything on earth, and I know she loves her kids. And say what you want about life, but from day ONE that baby was a life. It was a part of her, a living being. One of her kids. My niece or nephew. My Dad’s grandchild. Part of God’s plan. I don’t like it or understand it, but I respect it.

So go home, hug the kids, call up your sister. And say a prayer for mine.

Sunday we had a memorial service for Ginny’s dad. We had the family and a few friends over at the house. If you know my wife, you know she likes to talk, just not in front of people. That being said, she delivered what would equate to a eulogy for her dad. A feat that I’m not sure I could have done. And she did it in grand style, addressing everyone in the room.

I’m reminded every day that I married above my status. I’m proud of you, Ginny.

June 2018
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