"The Math of Life" might have been a more appropriate and positive title, but definitely less dramatic.
My Mom passed 76 days past her 68th birthday. Given my morbid predilictions, I contemplated what that might mean for my life.
If I die 76 days past my 68th birthday (including leap years), I will die at 1:08am on March 31, 2034. As of today, this is 22 years and 331 days from now.
My brother hipped me to an idea of putting a marble in a jar for each "Saturday" you have left, and then each Saturday, remove one of the marbles. On one hand repulsively macabre, on the other -- a Nietzschean awareness of the edge (and talk about pressure to help me meet deadlines!).
Unfortunately, this would mean I would need approximately 8,361 marbles. And a jar to hold them in. If I allow for weeks I have left, I'd need 1,194.43 marbles. Hmmm. Warmer. Months is 278.7 marbles.
I'm inclined to go for the weeks. It is 915 marbles more, but I believe removing a marble every week would help be more conscious of the time I have left to get things done. The purpose of the activity. I wonder how many marbles come in a bag?
It doesn't have to be marbles, though, does it? It could be pennies. Or little plastic skulls. Or....do you have any ideas?
* I did these on the back of one of my pocket index cards and the help of my iphone, so feel free to check my calculations.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Dedicated to Mom, on Mother's Day. The journey begins.
Hi,
I'm getting this off the ground on Mother's Day, May 8, 2011. This is the first Mother's Day since my Mom, Madolyn S., passed from breast cancer on December 28, 2010.
I'm dedicating this day by opening this blog to her. Mom always encouraged me in every idea, endeavor, project or wish. Never once did she say I couldn't do something, nor fail to support me.
I've always (since teens, anyway) had an obsession with death and dying and final words and what I would think or do in those final moments. I've been afraid of dying while my song was still in me. My Mom passed with still so much to give, and was taken far too young at 68. I don't want this to happen to me.
In so many ways I'm not sure what truly lasts on this ball of dirt, but I know that the energy I (we) put into the world matters. There's no reason that my song has to wait until I'm ready to write that book, or that article, or that posts for this blog be edited and polished for me to publish them. There's no reason that it has to come out all at once.
Thus we begin. Thank you, Mom.
This is my song.
I'm getting this off the ground on Mother's Day, May 8, 2011. This is the first Mother's Day since my Mom, Madolyn S., passed from breast cancer on December 28, 2010.
I'm dedicating this day by opening this blog to her. Mom always encouraged me in every idea, endeavor, project or wish. Never once did she say I couldn't do something, nor fail to support me.
I've always (since teens, anyway) had an obsession with death and dying and final words and what I would think or do in those final moments. I've been afraid of dying while my song was still in me. My Mom passed with still so much to give, and was taken far too young at 68. I don't want this to happen to me.
In so many ways I'm not sure what truly lasts on this ball of dirt, but I know that the energy I (we) put into the world matters. There's no reason that my song has to wait until I'm ready to write that book, or that article, or that posts for this blog be edited and polished for me to publish them. There's no reason that it has to come out all at once.
Thus we begin. Thank you, Mom.
This is my song.
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