The first time I watched this, I was a little nervous... and then it turned into something that was just stunningly beautiful to watch and listen to.

When I was fifteen years old, I had a friend that was killed.

I am embarrassed to say that we were "cheating buddies". We had three classes together and we were Cheating McCheating Pants.  He would help me in Math, I would help him in English. It was a friendship that worked.

I was horrified when I realized that my cheating pal had been killed. I would daily go to each class and look at his empty seat and feel a little piece of me die. We weren't that good of friends, but good enough that his death shook me to the core.

It was then that I started planning my funeral. It’s such a morbid thing, planning ones funeral while you're still alive,  but I realized then that I had very specific things I wanted to have happen.

No roses, only daisies. 

No crying, only laughing. 

When I was in my twenty's I was engaged to someone else-- Not Jefe-- and when his little brother turned sixteen and took the car out for a ride with his friends? He never came home. He was killed -- along with two of his friends-- that first night driving alone. 

I am 100% certain that this is the reason why I am such a freaker about Thing 1 driving.

At his funeral, I added more to my list:

Closed casket. 

When Jefe's Dad died, I added more things:

A great big party with loud music and great food. 

Please make fun of all the dumb stuff I said and did. 

I'll be honest with you, my imaginary friends. Death? It scares the hell out of me.

There was a time when it didn't and I would have openly embraced it; However, now that I'm looking down the proverbial end of the road? It scares the ever living snot out of me.


Now that I’m Forty, I’ve changed my plans again:

No longer do I want to be buried in the ground, left to rot in a sea of metal. I just find that to be disgusting.

I want to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled under a big beautiful tree with a bench. I want my friends and family to be able to come and sit under me-- my tree-- and feel me there when they hear the wind through the tree.  Because I will be there, you know. Watching. Guiding. Loving.

No longer do I want a formal funeral. I want a party where there is lots of laughing, joking and happiness. Good food and even better music.

Those are all things that are important to me now, why would I want anything less when I am gone?

Did I mention laughing?

Please tell all the things that I swore you to secrecy—especially those embarrassing ones—so that everyone can see what a doofus I was, and remember that I was indeed, at one time, fun.

I want to hear a lot of “remember when she . . .” and then hear the roar of laughter as they remember.

I want to hear my friends telling my children “did you know this about your mother…”  or “there was this one time when your mom…”  I am certain that right now my children are convinced I had no fun, or a sense of humor. I want them to know that I was, at one time, hysterical. 

I also want my kids to know that I was a believer. I tried my hardest to my best to do what is right (that sounded a little like the scout motto there). Of course there were things that I failed miserably at, but I did the best that I could with what I knew and understood. 

I’m Forty people. FORTY. And, as Jefe likes to constantly point out—It’s all down hill from here and we could be dead any day now.

That causes me great amounts of trepidation.

I’m not ready yet. I still have so much that I want to Conquer, Accomplish, try and do.

But, just in case that “condition” that I know I have—but  the doctors don’t—turns out to be real, you all know exactly how I want my death handled.

Morbid much?

Everytime I go through the McDee's drive thru-- which lets face it,  is a lot-- I get a whiff of this smell that immediately transports me to the boarding areas of Airports.

I dunno why, other than I spent the majority of my childhood hopping one plane to another and seeing the world.

And that whiff that I get as I get my morning Diet Coke? It makes me feel all sorts of happy.

My Dad was a VP for the largest travel agency west of the Mississippi River, and what we did for fun was travel.

Disneyland for the day? Yes.

School clothes shopping in San Francisco? Yes please.

State reports for school? Lets go see that state up close and personal.

Country reports for school? Get your passports out.

You can do all that and more when your airfare is free. Or close to it.

I remember when I was Twenty and was working at the Agency, I was having a really difficult time making some decisions. So I did what I still do best: I ran away.

I hopped on a plane to San Diego and spent the day wandering around Old Town and then the Beach.

No one knew any different.

I was gone only for the day, but the sea air helped clear my head and I came home with some direction.

Not really.

I came home with a tan, but I sure felt better.

Another time, when my long term boyfriend broke up with me, I figured out that I could get airfare to Hong Kong for $37.00 round trip. So I convinced my cousin to come with me and these two Twenty-somethings  took off for sights unknown (and my uncles house).

We had a blast. We shopped. We ate. We saw the country and lots of nasty bugs.

I escaped my troubles and life started to seem a little perkier as I watched the earth rush past me from 37,000 feet in the sky.

Distance has a way of putting perspective on things. When you are so high in the air, and can see the whole road laid out before you-- the way suddenly becomes more clear.

That's one of the major reasons I like to travel. It clears my head. Helps me regroup and see things from a much larger perspective.

That giant mountain you look at every day really isn't all that big when you can see the whole thing from 37,000 feet in the sky.

When I no longer had the travel benefits that allowed me to fly willy-nilly like Superman, I would go hang out at the airport.

I totally did.

This was long before the new TSA restrictions were in place, and I would go to the airport and walk around, watch people and even sit and do my homework. There is nothing, to me at least, that is quite as cathartic as the airport.

My second favorite pasttime is people watching and the airport is ripe for the pickings. Especially back in "the olden days" when you could actually wander to the gates. I would spy people coming and going and make up stories about them.

Long lost lovers being reuninted as she squealed in delight when he came off the plane.

Another crying as he put her on the plane and sent her off into the wild blue yonder.

Mothers weeping as they send their children off to school, or missions and Fathers Beaming as said children came home.

It really is quite inspiring to watch people at the airport-- you can get a clear sense of who the person is, by how they travel and treat others.

I seriously love the Airport and it really chapped my hide when I wasn't allowed to wander around at will. I get such a rush from just being in the building. Besides, nothing feels better than jumping on a plane and letting it take you where ever it wills. Once you have been bitten by that nasty Wanderlust God, there is no turning back.

Every morning as I get that familiar whiff, I feel that pesky Wanderlust friend of mine pushing and prodding me to come back to the fold and join them on another adventure. My will is slowly failing me, and I'm seeing a reunion with me, my old pal, the wanderlust god, and my trusty companion-- the airport-- in my near future.

Where we go, only the plane will know.