Here Lies My Will

My official unofficial last will and testament:

I, of occasional Swiss cheese mind state swear that the words herein are totally what I want you to do with my stuff and my person when I die or become completely infirm (if the latter, let it be known that I am pissed you didn’t take me out back and shoot me [in other words, pull the plug]). The date today is May 3rd, 2013.

I would like, assuming we are still close at the time of my death, to have my sister Rachael Kuiken, and friends Chad Lanning, Dan Kane, Steph Grant-Kennedy, Robert and Amber Arwine, and Hilary Falk in charge of executing my will and arranging my funeral services and burial. They know, and understand me best, and I can’t imagine any of them fighting or doing something ridiculous to make my wishes a floppy failure.

My cats are my primary concern. I wish that they go to either Daniel Howard Kane or Jonathan Lloyd Ford, who are two people with lives stable enough for Gaia (aka Gaia the Bee, G-Baby), Odin (aka Odin Marie [when he’s being a ponce], Odin the Terrorcat, Odie), Igor (aka Eegs) and Henry to join them, and who possess the right temperament to become their owners/love them as much as I do. While I would prefer all four stay together because Gaia needs the companionship even if it seems like she hates them, and because Odin loves being daddy to Igor and Henry, I chose two people in the event that this is not possible. If it is not possible to keep them together, please keep at least Gaia and Odin together and Igor and Henry together. Gaia is at this time approximately 15 years old (no precise idea of her age, as she was a stray), Odin is nearly 5 (he was born September 22nd, 2008), and Igor and Henry are nearly 3 (likely born in late September 2010). All of them are healthy, though none of them have had a full battery of shots as I see no reason to do so since they are indoor cats. Igor and Henry do have kitty herpes, but as long as they stay indoors and are loved and cared for, they shouldn’t have any problems with it save some occasional sneezing and giant snot rockets. If they do get gunky eyes, some simple eye wash (available at vet supply stores) will take care of it in a day or two. Gaia occasionally gets a gunk eye as well.

Otherwise, there is my “stuff”. My lamps and dead things and all the tchotchkes on my dresser shrine are probably most important to me (yes, even the rusty metal washers; I pick those up on every trip I take. It’s what poor people call a souvenir.), and I’d like for them to be distributed amongst friends and family who want them (many dead things were gifts, so please allow those who gave them to me to claim them first). It might be fun to put all the washers and little things in a basket for people to take one of at the funeral service, if they’d like. My sister Rachael should have my paternal grandmother Lois’s Tiffany style lamp, the three milk glass lamps from the Ely cabin, and my solid silver bracelet (the bracelet was purchased at the Heard museum in Phoenix, AZ in October 2005 for $198). I would like to keep these things in the family. Robert Stanford Arwine III should have my Nashville guitar. Fur and leather coats to Hilary Falk, and she should get first dibs on any clothes. 

If I have any money at the time of my death, after use to pay for burial and pay off my debts, please give an amount reasonable for the lifetime care of my cats to Dan and/or Jonathan, and any remaining amount should be distributed to pay off debts of my immediate family (parents and sister), and then equally the debts of anyone friend or family mentioned in this will. If there is still a sizable amount of money after that, then I would like the cabin outside of Ely on White Iron Lake that was in my family for several decades to be reacquired, and put into some kind of legalesey trust that ensures the cabin stays in the family and is cared for financially with my money in perpetuity, and that it be a place of refuge for my friends and family alike. If there is any amount remaining after that, I would like for $20 bills to be passed out at random to people on Frenchmen Street in New Orleans, and somewhere old and pretty in Memphis, Louisville, Minneapolis, and Ely until it is gone. If I own any property, or any kind of sweet car, I’d like it to go to Chad Lanning.

How I’d like to be buried and wishes for my funeral:

If I haven’t expressed a specific cemetery by the time of my passing, I would prefer to be buried somewhere in the state of either Kentucky or Tennessee in a small country cemetery, on a hill or in the woods. I want there to be plenty of trees. I want this because my heart belongs to the South, and both of those states are central enough for everyone I love (who are scattered all over the country) to be able to come to the burial/later visit my grave/make yearly pilgrimages to pour Powers whiskey on it, if they so choose. If there is an afterlife and you love me, please consider that being buried somewhere with a harsh winter is just about the only thing that kind of freaks me out about death/being bound to the place one is buried. 

Ideally, I would prefer to not be embalmed, or preserved in any way. I understand that this means burial very soon after my death, and that puts a strain on whomever plans the funeral, particularly if I’m to be buried out of state, but returning to the earth in as natural a state as possible is incredibly important to me. I would like to be buried in a box made of untreated wood, in the traditional old-timey coffin shape. If he would be interested in doing so, it would mean a lot to me to have Thor Johann Carlson of New Orleans make this box for me. (I think it would be pretty rad for y’all to rent a bus and drive down together. Just put my coffin in a trailer behind it, and maybe some tin cans on strings to clatter down the road.)

I do not want any kind of religious officiant to speak at my funeral, nor any conversation about the afterlife in any religious way. I am not an atheist, and I do believe in a higher power, but I am not afraid of death and I don’t believe it is any of our business as the living to make guesses on what happens to us after death. We can’t know. I don’t find it comforting to hear it at other funerals, and I don’t want it to be a part of mine. I would like for friends and family to speak about their memories of me, for people to read letters I’d written, etc. John Morson may or may not have a stash of Sarah quotes at the ready. If someone wants to read something by someone else, let it be something that Leonard Cohen, Charles Bukowski or Nick Cave wrote. As for flowers, encourage people to send wild-type flowers, Gerbera daisies, ferns or ivy plants. Trees (oak, or willow, preferably) planted in my name would also be wonderful. Please bury me at dusk, during magic hour. It’d be neat if y’all wore black, with big hats and veils on the ladies and felt hats on the men, cuz I like fancy coordination like that. Feel free to smile and laugh often, despite this color. And it should be strongly encouraged that people bring their dogs, if they’d like to.

I know this will make my mama cringe, but I would very much like for someone to sing the song Jack on Fire by the Gun Club at my funeral service, or graveside; my band, The Deceitful Lapwings, covered it, but it would be wonderful to have someone reinterpret it. Possible persons to sing/perform it would be Chad Michael Lanning, Hans Lang Olson and Shannah Marie Anderson, with any of my musician friends who’d like to tackle it. It’s a dark and nasty song, but it’s chock full of things that I love and make me laugh, in its macabre morbidity. Shots of Powers whiskey should be distributed as it is being performed, and should take said shot at the line, “And I will fuck you until you die, bury you and kiss the town goodbye. It will be unhappy, it will be sad, but it will be understood that I am bad!” And something with dimes, my favorite coin. Maybe throw dimes into the casket before it’s buried.

An open bar after my funeral service/burial is also important, as well as a live band, several of my friends’ bands, in particular. If someone can make it happen, I also have fantasies of Ryan Adams playing. Maybe by the time I die, he’ll be hard up for cash (or he’ll remember the Tweet he just favorited that states I’d like him to play at my funeral). Jack White would be amazing too, but I suspect even less likely. Choose some small, dark, comfortable bar in KY or TN that can be rented out. You’ll know it by its wood paneling and taxidermy, and it will probably be the possessive name of some man.

Drinks I love that should be notably served, and could be given jaunty/archaic language/dead things Sarah-like nicknames in my honor: Powers whiskey (I take mine tall, heavily watered, no ice), vodka soda with lime, sauvignon blanc, malbec, craft beer porters and stouts, Corona, PBR (in bottle only), and a mango martini that is made with mango puree, black pepper vodka and other stuff; find someone who used to work at Joe’s Garage to get the recipe. Drew White would know. Let there be spicy tuna roll sushi, sandwiches Croque Monsieur and Cuban, plenty of healthy crudité with hummuses and fresh fruits (except for cantaloupe, ew), a nice mixed greens salad with tomatoes and red onion with my vinaigrette (olive oil, red wine vinegar, dill, minced garlic, yellow mustard, honey, salt and pepper) and a taco bar with both trashy gringo taco fixin’s and traditional fresh corn tortilla, barbacoa, white onion, pico de gallo, cilantro and lime (see: TACO CAT!!!). Desserts should be key lime pie, butterscotch budino (alá the 112 Eatery), and angel food with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. My friend Scott Hurlbut would be a fine choice to put together this menu, and it would honor me greatly to have him do so.

And I think that’s about it. 

Sincerely,

Sarah Michelle Moeding

May the third, the year two thousand and thirteen