Uncle Herbie's Plans

Uncle Herbie has asked me to arrange for his burial plot.
I will again engage with the seating arrangement of my dead relatives and project who will want to be where depending on variables that must be imagined in order to assess the proper location.

I will need to contact Kensico Cemetery and find the location for all the Cohen plots and then choose one for Uncle Herbie.  For now it is a fact finding task. Yes, I am that woman (out of the 8 nieces and nephews), but I am not completely comfortable knowing that this is my role.

Dr. Herbert I. Cohen is not leaving this to chance.
He told me that he just updated his obituary.
I couldn't resist, I asked...

How often do you do that? 

Every year, I may start doing it more frequently.

Do we need a plot for Daniel?

No, he doesn't want to be buried there. 

(PAUSE)

He wants to be cremated.

Do you want me to have his ashes sprinkled on your grave if you die first?

I don't care. I'll be dead. You do what you want.

(PAUSE)

ok

What else is there to say?

xoxo,

Bob's Daughter

Moving on...
I have had some great advice.

The 1970's, when I was a child, was filled with design. Bob liked Marimekko.
I mostly liked it, sometimes it felt like too much color and the black was soothing. I would try to figure out which color they started printing with and which were layered over them.
It all looked a bit like this:

As Bob's Daughter, I did not go to a school that said "no black". I lived in design school and one of the biggest fights I ever had with Bob was when I told him that the green rug didn't match the wallpaper that looked somewhat like the the one above. He finally stopped arguing with me and said to Linda, "I am not debating this with a five year old!!!" The only problem was that it was in  my bedroom. I learned to understand complimentary colors. Linda told me it was like the grass. That too was confusing because where was the sky? House Beautiful came the next week to photograph our house. This  was my learning curve.

Respectfully,

Bob's Daughter

Color and Control

I stood on the playground, under an oak tree
and wanted to scream.
The lawyer, holding her one year old,
fast asleep in her arms, just told me that at the Waldorf School,

"You know, they don't want you to wear black."

As I was about to respond, another mother sitting on the geodesic dome said,

"I'll give you an example of why they feel that way. My son was in kindergarten and he came home upset and said to me, 'My teacher always wears black! I want to see color!'
Kids just really want color around them."

I stood paralyzed.
The phrase, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all" came to mind. I was silent, standing there in my black v-neck t-shirt, black underskirt with an over-skirt of black, white and gray mesh.

Finally I said,  

"I guess I just don't feel that way.
I teach art history and it's all part of a spectrum."

"Do you teach kindergarten?" 

"No, I teach college."

"Well then, black and gray are appropriate for that."
She looked at my clothing and smiled.

WOW, my brain was spinning.
I wanted to say that "The colonization of the body should not be encouraged and the fact that your son is taught to believe that he has the right to decide what his teacher should wear is inappropriate. A five year old is in school to learn."

Instead I looked at her, acknowledged her opinion with a nod and looked away. I felt like there should be a big bubble over my head saying, "one if these things is not like the others".

This is when it became even more interesting...

A friend of mine from graduate school had invited me to the park that day
and she jumped in, sensing the tension.

"Emily doesn't discriminate against colors. All colors are important for her."

This seemed to placate everyone or at least give us all a chance to move on.

I can't stop thinking about this sentence, "Emily doesn't discriminate against colors."

It could be the early 1960's on the same playground and instead of wearing black
I might have a black friend? I need to think about this more.

Respectfully,

Bob's Daughter