My apologies to the fine people of Boston, Massachusetts. I have spent my fifth work related trip there but have failed to see the sights or have a decent meal yet again. Somebody could make a fortune directing business travelers to a real restaurant, but that is a rant for another day. Let's talk death, my friends! I went to another Funeral Convention. This was my fourth national convention and my worst fears have come true. A person CAN get used to walking into a convention center to the sight of acres of caskets, hearses, and urns. For the first time I did not get that jolting urge to run or laugh too loudly out of nervousness upon entering the convention center. Bummer.
As I do every year, I have some great offerings for you of the latest products and innovations in the death care industry. What I choose to blog on each year is the absolute best the convention has to offer. Or the weirdest things you could possibly think of, depending upon your point of view.
First up - for those of you looking to go green but wanting something cozier than bamboo. How about a casket or urn made entirely of wool?
Yes, let that sink in there for a minute. The Brits are always my favorites at these conventions. The English will make you a wool casket while the Irish chat you up about old Father Ted episodes (more on my beloved Pat in a moment.)The company is Hainsworth. The products are completely biodegradable wool. Yes, they are soft and sturdy. And I think this is brilliant!
I have a devoted reader originally from across the pond who has been gently nudging me to get my green cemetery going before he takes his final saunter through this life. Jim, I think you would look stunning in the brown casket. That and a couple of tens of thousands in a personal loan to me, will get you the green burial you have been looking for.
My buddies at the Irish Dirt company came back (See last year's posts from Orlando.) The economy has been hard on Irish Dirt according to Pat, my main dirt man, but that's a story as old as time. It is such a great product, though, that I have decided to sell it on my Death Club website. It should be available in January if I can get the kinks out of the website.Just a refresher: It is dirt. From Ireland. You can be buried with it, have it sprinkled over your grave, get your ashes comingled with it and scattered together; or, for the unimaginative, you can grow shamrocks in it.
My buddy Pat, the Dirt Dude, has this fantastic accent that is often impenetrable as he mutters something that sounds like it could be laced with expletives, rue, and innuendo. Turns out when I get him to repeat it - he is not talking dirty - just talking about death and dirt. He also supports me in my love of "Father Ted" reruns. I love him.
While yukking it up with Pat at Irish Dirt Convention Headquarters one afternoon I was heckled from my buddies a few booths down who yelled out, "Look out, Pat! She'll flirt for dirt!" (Funeral Insurance guys sure are a jealous bunch.) Will someone please inscribe Flirt for Dirt on my tombstone?
It was a funeral convention. There was whiskey involved. Sadly, I missed ALL the antics. Pat and the insurance boys assured me that having missed escapades at half the Irish bars in town (and in Boston that is saying something) my life is meaningless. What a comfort.
Next installments from the funeral convention: Bad jokes about salad shooters and cremains, some beautiful urns, the hottest hearse ever.
