Not long ago my mother suddenly announced she wants to be cremated when she dies. Also, she wants her ashes to be spread in Wyoming because (she said) she's never liked Utah that much anyway.
This was news to me. "You want to be cremated?" I asked her.
"Yes," she said. "I have always wanted to be cremated."
"This is the first I've heard of it."
"Perhaps you weren't listening."
"But how will I visit you on Memorial Day with my peonies and snowballs and irises and so forth? Can we just cremate your foot or something and spread those ashes in Wyoming?"
Anyway. I was thinking about that conversation today as I was running in Liberty Park because--how weird is this?--I think if I were to be cremated, I wouldn't mind having my ashes spread there. I've enjoyed that park ever since I was a little girl, and I love it in all its seasons. So yeah. Take my urn to the top of the Ferris wheel and, baby, let the ashes fly.
Where would you have your ashes spread? And yes. I know. I have officially gone around the bend.