The Graveyard Notes

He's still getting mail. After two and a half years Denny has received today an important "confidentiality assured" brown envelope under a "security seal." It came addressed to "Denison A. Andrews" because years ago Denny sent in warranty cards with different middle initials just to see who was selling his name. By now I've forgotten of course. Is it Sears, with the refrigerator? An air conditioner company? It's almost practically humorous this persistence of the junk mailing list vendors.

Yes, there is a twisted humor here. Bally Fitness exhorts Denny to renew his workout efforts. That's a funny one isn't it. Triple A sends their concerns for his safety on the road. And AARP keeps reminding him his membership is expired (Ha-ha. "expired," get it?) Denny also receives the occasional reminder from his dentist and his opthamologist. The first postcard was spooky because Denny had filled it out himself, with a note: "Hi, Lovey! I'm still here!"

In politics they used to joke about the graveyard vote; this I would call the graveyard note! The last temporal vestiges of his name flaking off.

After I move (which I do every few years to escape my catalogues), Denny's name will endure where it belongs--for the remainder of this archaeological age at any rate--on a small plaque on a niche in our church columbarium. The little plaque, installed when Denny's ashes were interred when he had been dead only six months, already has a rust spot on it.