Omit Obit
By Mark D. Crantz
Someone once said the two certainties in life are death and taxes. This is a depressing sentiment. It makes me want to get a job at the IRS and tax the guy who said this to death. That was my first thought this morning before my first cup of beer (scratch that) coffee.
It’s important to start the day on a positive note. So, I open up the Indy and then, there it is. Three more obituaries. People seem to be dying faster than I can remember. I’m a bit of an insomniac and find myself roaming around at night. It’s during these nocturnal knockabouts that I see flashing red lights, multiple fire trucks and emergency vehicles out my window. Oh. Oh. I think. Another neighbor has bit the dust. Some come back. More and more do not.
It is the next day after these nocturnal visits that lift my spirits. The IRS guy shows up to make good on the overdue taxes. It is the expression on his face that gives me hope. It is an expression of both surprise and frustration that he has found himself a day late and a dollar short. You can almost hear his wheels turning about the forwarding address he has been left that no IRS agent in the world can run down.
I always feel better the next day. The good feeling never lasts, though. I run down to Ralph’s to pick up my daily bread…beer (don’t scratch that). That’s when I nearly bump into them, the fire truck guys in the deli, who took my neighbors away. I am never sure it’s the same guys. They all look alike to me, big, strong with a look that says we’ll live forever, you won’t. These guys scare me. So, I walk way around them, being sure not to make eye contact. There’s no reason to tempt getting on their work list for the coming nights.
Yes readers, I sound paranoid. But I think it is a normal sign of aging. You always relate to your own peer group. The problem now is that more of my peer group are lying down for good. I can continue to say, “Get up. Get up, there’s still a lot more stories to make and talk about.” But there’s no getting up. It’s not the way it works.
I look around the block and notice there are a lot more youngsters than I remember. This group is hard to relate to. They seem to be into picking their noses and farting a lot. Well…I think I can relate to that. “Hey kids, pull my finger.”
Crantz tells the Indy that he read that 158,000 people die each day, while 401,000 people are born. He just asks that it not happen on his block only.
