Move Over, Potato Chips
What have you been famous for, or what may describe/define your life?
For instance, this came over the news on Monday: Fredric Baur, the man who designed the Pringles potato chip packaging system, was so proud of his accomplishment that a portion of his ashes has been buried in one of the iconic cans. He filed for a patent for the tubular Pringles container and for the method of packaging the curved, stacked chips and requested the burial arrangement.
I’ve heard of people being buried in their cars, probably in the mistaken thought of being able to drive it forever across the highways of heaven. I don’t think things work that way; I think your soul goes into happiness, while your body rots in a car that rusts. Assuming your greedy nephews don’t dig it up in the middle of the night, and leave “you” in the bottom of a filled-in hole.
Perhaps some old-line sea captains would have their ashes put into a container on a ship, discreetly so as not to spook the crew, transferred to a newer vessel when it is retired, there to sail the seas forever. Or until a superstitious crew member finds it and over it goes.
My mother wanted to be buried after a Catholic service, but she wanted to leave this world on her favorite Holland America Line ship, the Rotterdam V. Missed it by three weeks, she did. Not ill in the least; it was quite a surprise to us, and even more to her. But she often told me of her desire. Pity.
For instance, this came over the news on Monday: Fredric Baur, the man who designed the Pringles potato chip packaging system, was so proud of his accomplishment that a portion of his ashes has been buried in one of the iconic cans. He filed for a patent for the tubular Pringles container and for the method of packaging the curved, stacked chips and requested the burial arrangement.
I’ve heard of people being buried in their cars, probably in the mistaken thought of being able to drive it forever across the highways of heaven. I don’t think things work that way; I think your soul goes into happiness, while your body rots in a car that rusts. Assuming your greedy nephews don’t dig it up in the middle of the night, and leave “you” in the bottom of a filled-in hole.
Perhaps some old-line sea captains would have their ashes put into a container on a ship, discreetly so as not to spook the crew, transferred to a newer vessel when it is retired, there to sail the seas forever. Or until a superstitious crew member finds it and over it goes.
My mother wanted to be buried after a Catholic service, but she wanted to leave this world on her favorite Holland America Line ship, the Rotterdam V. Missed it by three weeks, she did. Not ill in the least; it was quite a surprise to us, and even more to her. But she often told me of her desire. Pity.
posted by Tom Carten at 5:22 PM
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