Death on Deck

I’ve noticed lately that a lot of my writing seems to have taken on a death theme.  I don’t know whether to blame myself or my brain, Peanuts.

Maybe it’s just that Peanuts and I are getting older; and when you get to be our age, the future isn’t as wide open and expansive as it used to be.

Peanuts and I have reached the crest of the hill of life, whereupon it’s all downhill from here on out.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the ride down that hill (in a car without any brakes) to one’s final destination (a drop off to the unknown) isn’t fun, as such.

I’m just saying that once you’re hurtling down that hill in the Death Car of Life, the scenery is going by way too fast.  Which is ironic because when you get older, you tend to want to go slower and dwell on the little details of life, like shrubbery, or the quality of the current garbage service or whether or not they overcharged you for that ham.

“Will you hurry up! You’re going to die in an hour and a half!”
“I know, but look at these shrubs!”

When you get to be Peanuts and my age, you’re Christopher Columbus looking through the para-scope and spotting West Indies only instead of spotting the West Indies you’re spotting death.

Oh sure, you’re not there yet, but Death (and/or the West Indies) is looming on the horizon as big as life!


What Peanuts and I usually do when we find ourselves thinking about death is try not to think about death.  And amazingly, this tactic actually works. The thought process goes something like this:

Someday I’m going to die, which means I won’t exist anymore, which means I’ll be dead which means everything I have ever done in my life and everyone and everything I have ever loved in my life will be kaput and I shall never, EVER pass this way again . . . OK, well I guess I’ll go vacuum now.

When you really think about it, death is what motivates the human race to accomplish things because when we’re really busy getting a lot stuff done, it’s a lot easier to pretend we are never going to die.

I only hope that when it’s Peanuts and my turn to be sucked through that tunnel towards the light, that everything on the other side will have lived up to the term “to die for”.

Until next time  . . . I love you

21 thoughts on “Death on Deck

  1. “…when you get older, you tend to want to go slower and dwell on the little details of life, like shrubbery, or the quality of the current garbage service or whether or not they overcharged you for that ham.”

    This is today’s phrase that pays, my friend. You hit on something I’ve been trying to tell my mother that she’s been doing for years. And her mother before her. But never me. I will never care if I’m overcharged for ham. *shifty eyes*

  2. Oh Sillyliss, if only that were true. But you too shall one day join the ranks of those of us who check our receipts to make sure we weren’t overcharged for the ham. But you’re young, and thankfully you have many, many years of not worrying about the price of ham stretching out before you! Oh how I envy you! LOL! 😀

  3. With this post, I sent off for my Colonial Penn Life Insurance–guaranteed to accept everyone. You can’t be too prepared for the Race Car of Death, right?

  4. If I know when I’m going to pass, I’d like to do something silly right at the end.
    Maybe leave the vacuum on. Or the water running…

    And afterward, I’d like to be immortalized in topiary.

    • El Guapo!! When I die I want to leave the water running! Thanks for the idea, you have just made my death a little happier! And I also like your idea of the topiary. I think a shrub could really capture my essence.

  5. I admire that you can distract yourself from thoughts of death and the endless abyss of nothingness by vacuuming. Well what else are we supposed to do about it? I hope when you die you come visit me as a ghost and tell me what the big deal is. 🙂

    • If there’s any way I can I will, I promise! (Also If you’re vacuum turns itself on and starts vacuuming, you’ll know it’s me!) In the really, really really big picture, vacuuming is just as important (or unimportant) and anything else, I guess. 😀

  6. If heaven has all the things I’ve mentioned are to die for, it’s gonna have a lot of food and Nordstrom’s purses! Haha!
    Now that I’ve turned 50 I feel like I’m buckled in to the death car of life. Unfortunately, my death car has faulty brakes and is missing a steering wheel! I think my driver is Mr. Magoo!

    • LOL Lisa! Being chauffeured around in the Death Car of Life by Mr. Magoo! I’m going to just sit here and think about that for a minute. I love that idea! He’d actually be a pretty good guy to have at your steering stub (where your steering wheel used to be) because he makes the trips highly entertaining while always managing to get to his destination safely. So it’s all good! Who knew it was all so simple!

  7. See, I have a big advantage over you here. I’m in the same Death Coach, and Al Gore cut the brake line, darn his wooden hide, but I’m OK with it all. Why? Because my brain died a long time ago. But Peanuts keeps skipping along, the little stinker… : P

    Your hope “that everything on the other side will have lived up to the term ‘to die for'” is one of your most ingenious quips yet!! : )

    • Darn his wooden hide! LOL!! He would do that. Probably cut that brake line to help the en-vi-ron-ment! And your comment about to die for is one to die for. Thanks Mark, you are so much fun and so supportive! 😀

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