My wife, Darcy; and I were on a date, sitting in the corner of the restaurant waiting for our food. I took out my pen and started to mark lines on a paper napkin. When I was done, I had made an acceptable likeness of a casket. I slid it across the table.
Darcy peeked at it, then rolled her eyes. She knew I hadn’t been taking this milestone (the big forty) in my life as well as I should. But this time she had read my thinking wrong.
"How many people does it take to carry one of these?" She looked at me with whimsical eyes that said, "What is he up to now? But she gave the right answer. "Six."
"Darcy; if I died tomorrow, who would you ask to carry my casket?’ I had plenty of friends who I believed would be willing to help with this task, assuming there was nothing more pressing in their appointment book. But I didn’t want those types of people carrying me to my grave. I wanted People who would drop whatever they were doing in order to drop me. Our conversation reminded me I had some work to do in the area of committed friends.
I realize this could sound morbid, but I decided I needed
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