Let's have a chat about death, shall we? Death, death, death, death, death, see, if you say it enough times it loses its meaning. Face it, I will die, you will die, we all are dying. Contrary to popular belief Death is not a bony apparition, rather, Death is a fat miser greedily grabbing your time. This is a story of a death and all its absurdity. Its Bubblicious! The story starts just as I have arrived back to our bobbing boat after a morning of provisioning in the small town of Perula on the Mexican bay of Chamela. I imagine Perula is the sort  of  town that would serve as a setting for a Tenessee Williams play. There are a few trailer parks, half a dozen tiny shops, some palapas, and dusty streets all leading to the broad beach.   But, I digress. The boat is bouncing on the waves caused by the afternoon winds. Rather than brave the beach surf entry in the dinghy I decide to check my email. "URGENT!!!!", That is what I see on the screen, "URGENT!!!!" This was my first hint that an existential crisis was about to hit. I open "URGENT!!!!". Its from my Aunt Betsy a strong woman not prone to hysteria or hyperbole. She tells me I must contact her immediately, it's my Dad and a car accident. At this point I learn that the phrase "the world started spinning" really means something. By golly, world, spinning, yup, all actually happens. My father is the sort who tells me AFTER the fact that he has had major surgery and has been recuperating for awhile. So, to have an URGENT!!! message is bad,  in the sense of, really, really not good. We leap into the dinghy, bounce through the breaking waves and arrive onto the beach. We hurry through the sleepy town in an effort to find a phone card and a working phone, not always easy in a Tennessee Williams sort of place. In a local grocery store we buy a phone card, but, we have no idea how it works. The shop owner must have seen panic in my face because he stopped trying to explain the card and simply called the United States on his own cell phone. I hear my aunt's voice, she says its bad, I say, "how is he?", she says its really bad, I say "how is he", she says its very, very bad, I say..... you get the picture. Suddenly the dancing is done and I hear "He's in the morgue." oh. Now, my Dad was a peculiar man, but, not generally prone to cruising local morgues for fun and profit. oh..... I see. Guess what? The phrase "felt like I was kicked in the stomach" refers to actual physical reaction too - kicked sensation, double over, drop to floor - check, check and check. I am sobbing on the floor of a small Mexican grocery store in a small Mexican town, which is really quite puzzling to the local population. They must have figured the store was out of chocolate chips or something. The extremely kind shop owner leaps into action, he hands me water, he hands me paper and pen, he hands me tissues, then he hands both Richard and I bubble gum. Bubble gum. I don't know why I hadn't realized before - its all about the bubblegum. Dad in a Box It's six days later. Richard and I have sailed from Chamela north to Nuevo Vallarta, flown from Mexico to Costa Rica, and are in San Jose waiting for my fathers body. Trust me, you haven't lived until you can say to somebody, "No, neither business nor pleasure - I'm waiting for a body." Their eyebrows go waayyy up high. The wait is over and I am in a morgue with Richard and Helga. (Helga is my quasi aunt. She is a wonderful woman who was like a little sister to my Dad.) We are ushered into a softly lit room. I suppose they believe the soft lighting will lesson the impact. I think a disco ball would be more fun. In the room, with a spotlight on it (not, mind you, my desired disco ball) is an urn with my Daddy's name on it. Yup, tears and lots of them. Then there is this box. Richard and the morgue guy are bravely putting my Dad in a box. Dad in a box. NEW, from RONCO, its, Dad in a Box! Carry it on the bus! Its a paperweight, its a soda rest - get one before your neighbors do! I did say death is absurd, didn't I? Anyone Have a Leatherman? Two days later a small group assembles on a lush, green mountaintop overlooking the blue, blue Pacific ocean. We are all here to welcome my Dad home. A small hole has been dug into which my fathers ashes are to be placed. On top and around him will be planted flowers. It will be Bill's garden. I hope pretty, well-endowed women will bend over to admire the flowers so my Dad can admire back. The entire group is crying and snuffling wildly. We gently open the urn. Um, we GENTLY open the urn. Okay, urn not opening. Soon it is as if a group of primitive men are poking and prodding a strange object. Tools are acquired, people tug - Dad is definitely laughing his rear off. Anyone have a Leatherman?? In the End My father, William Eaton, was living his dream in Costa Rica. He died full of life. May we all be so lucky.