Of late I’ve been thinking a lot about death and dying. Of finally being reduced to being in the third person singular.

I might be feeling fine right now – like any normal, happy, ‘testosterony’ male – but hey, I’m almost 63 and everybody knows that at 63 shit can suddenly happen. I know of at least three folks who began raising the daisies, prior ta 63.

I am genuinely concerned – will the worms like my taste or will they splutter in disgust? Stick your ears close to the ground and you might hear…”Hannah, where’s the soya sauce? This guy stinks!”

Sometimes I have toyed with the idea of writing my obituary in advance, which is actually not difficult, given that I know exactly how I am going to die. I’m not supposed ta tell you but I’ll give you a hint – I’ll die doing something that vastly increases the heart rate and blood pressure and requires just one hand and a kerchief and gives you a nice deep restful sleep, afterwards.

News publishers pre-write obituaries all the time. Nixon’s speechwriters pre-wrote the obituaries of the Apollo-11 crew, chances that they’d take a moon dirt nap were so high. Pre-writing Trump’s obituary after he stops needing oxygen shouldn’t require a Booker Prize winner, since it is just four words – he was an asshole.

I used ta worry about what was going ta happen to my FB page and my dear old blog, after I crossed the River Styx. I’m glad ta announce that I now have that wrapped up……

She doesn’t know it yet but I am going to leave my FB page and my blog in the care of a young FB friend I’ve never met before but who I care about deeply. Why did I choose her? She bursts with creativity, passion, warmth, on a scale that is awe inspiring. She’ll check the mail, water the plants, feed the cat and keep the two sites going, as she forges her own path through life, collecting laurels as surely she will, given how gifted she is.

And when she’s old, getting ready ta examine the beets and radishes up close herself, I am sure she’ll find an online friend ta pass my stuff and her’s on. And her friend in turn will do the same and hers and hers and hers.

I hope that a thousand years from now, one of my ‘descendants’ will group all the online content into a kinda virtual cemetery, where folks can leave plaintive posts like, “Dear Sniggledeebub, I know you’re in a better place but I still miss you…”

Of course many of my FB and spunkybong blog posts fall under the category of ‘grossly inappropriate’. In case she’s reading this – I promise I’ll do some culling before I start picking turnips with a step ladder.

So now you know that I am going ta hand over my intellekchul property to a woman. So, all you male FB friends, eat humble 3.14159265358979323.