NEITHER * SNOW * NOR * RAIN * NOR *

Read enough obituaries and you have to wonder how your own might go.

I mean to alarm no one. Despite my recent birthday, I am in excellent health, save for a nagging tendonitis in my left foot. Being treated.

By all mortality tables I have 100% probability of double digit years remaining. Nevertheless, plan ahead.

So, it is my intention to sprinkle clues as to what I'd like included. This of course by no means means anyone is going to pay attention. The reality is most people do go with barely a notice. Period. The family is too afraid of being burglarized if they put out too many details, and, as for a news item, well, you've really got to be someone. The New York Times has about 1,200 waiting to go. And that's for everyone they know in the world. Odds are significantly against your own notoriety being shared with the readership.

Paid notices can be done, but they are EXPENSIVE, and in all great likelihood I won't leave that much money to anyone who will care to express their sentiments in print.

So, clues are what I'm leaving about leaving. All this of course assumes wherever this stuff is stored it outlives me and someone takes note. There go those odds again. Two things happening.

I want to be remembered as the somewhat goofy dad who, when he was with his then ten-year-old daughter, pointed to the two block long General Post Office on Eighth Avenue in Manhattan and told her they had to make the building that long, just to get all the words in.

Any less land, and they would have had to use a smaller font.

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