What Not to Say When Planning Your Wife’s Future Funeral

I am published today.

Then again, I do that every day. I write a post on my blog and click “Publish.” Voila, published!

But I’m in the newspaper today. Last week, I wrote a review for a local bistro on a “Citizen Journalist” site. The next day, I was contacted by the editor telling me they were going to publish it in the print edition. What makes me qualified to be a food critic, you might ask?

I have a palate.

This means that everyone could do it. And all those highbrow restaurant critics are nothing more than palate snobs. Very well-fed palate snobs.

I’ll take it.


I am really enjoying my calling as pianist for the Primary children at church. I mean, what’s not to love? I hide behind the piano, can pick my nose all I want and nobody pays attention to me unless I royally screw up. Which only happens about 15 times a day.

Recently, we sang my favorite childhood song, “My Heavenly Father Loves Me.” It is a touching song about the beauty of nature and the miracle of our bodies. As I played, I got a bit teary-eyed (again, it was good to be hiding behind the piano). I decided I would love to have sweet, innocent children sing that song at my funeral someday.

In a rare serious moment during our drive home, I decided to impart my wishes upon my loving husband.

“Jamie, I know what I want sung at my funeral.”

“Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead?”

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