{No, we’re not ending this series on “room(s)” early. Still have the rest of this Holy Week to go, but I’m writing about my very last resting place. The last place I’ll take up space.}

We’ve made our final plans. Our exit from this earthly life. Across the street from our church is a funeral home. A few blocks away is our church cemetery, located where the first church building stood in 1791. It seemed convenient to tie everything up in a nice bow in that neighborhood, my boyhood haunts. (Hmmm. Might be a better word in this context, huh?)

Union Presbyterian Church, Endicott, NY

So, Joan and I have made the “arrangements.” Joan’s service is planned; I’m procrastinating, fighting closer fires, you might say. (Oh, dear; “fires”– not a good choice?) But I’ll get around to it. We’ll have services at the church, with the funeral home having little to do with that part. There’ll be urns. I was pleasantly surprised that the nice guy at the funeral home didn’t try to push us into any unnecessary expenses. When we said simple, he took us at our word.

Joan’s favorite thing to do is to walk in the woods. So, there, along some lovely forest trail, she will rest. And I? I’ll be in a tiny “room” in Riverside Cemetery. Larry, the church cemetery manager, showed us “plots.” I chose one on the edge of the property, along a road where I once delivered newspapers, right under the protection of a chain link fence. Not exactly romantic nor scenic. But enough for what’s left of me.

I like having a “place.” And a stone of some sort, so that if a future generation wanted to find some family history in my hometown, there’d be a marker. I told Larry of my plans for a tombstone. Grave marker. Head stone. Or, what our son Jim called “deadstones” as we passed by cemeteries in his childhood. Since I spent so many years playing music on the radio, my final resting place will have a jukebox-sized stone, complete with a solar-powered MP3 playback system. Visitors could then plug in private headphones or maybe listen via Bluetooth to recordings of old “Celebration Rock” programs or jazz shows. Two problems occur. A) The media will be out-of-date soon after I am. So, we’d have to have access to the innards of my monument (“my monument” has nice ring to it!), so the president of my fan club could adjust the system to whatever media is (are) current. And B) In Upstate New York, it seems cloudy most of the time, so the solar panels might not work all the time. I’ll have to contract with Binghamton University’s lithium-ion battery geniuses to bring my deadstone to life on overcast days.

On the first roll of color film I ever shot:
Memorial Day at Riverside Cemetery, c.1958?

I’d write more today, but I have to keep transferring old shows onto digital files so my jukebox is ready to go…when I’m ready to go.

Except…wait! There was problem C.

C) Larry didn’t approve. Nor did the bank when I told the manager how much cash I needed to pay for this endeavor. So, simplicity it is. My last room: a hole in the ground. Pre-paid.