Creative Burst: My Obituary
The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, but if I’m wrong please forward the following to the Bay City Times:
Lover of discount diary and expired ales and lagers, Bay City resident Tim Kenyon expired recently in a manner yet to be determined by the team of doctors scouring his remains for any sign that there was something wrong with him in the first place. Originally fermented and bottled in the Live Free or Die state (that’s New Hampshire to all non-native New Englanders), Tim relocated to the four corners of the U.S. to places as far away as San Francisco, CA and Reno, Nevada to eventually settle on the shores of the Saginaw River where he free floats on a daily basis with the scores of fish who can’t seem to find it in themselves to submerge into the murky depths. Tim prided himself on his ability to play with words even though the scoreboard being maintained by his agent has reveals he is fighting a losing battle. When not writing, he loved to stand in front of people and pretend he knew stuff he believed they wanted to know. Sometimes one or two of them would even smile or have something to say back to him. That always made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Tim is survived by his spouse, JodiAnn, a wordsmith/teacher/poet/mother-of-his-babies, son, Estlin, who is a four-year-old currently being possessed by the mind and spirit of a twelve-year old, and daughter, Lucy, who can’t not smile even in the case of diaper rash. What a treat, he used to say.
Tim plans to be cremated and have his ashes thrown into the industrial-sized fan running the air conditioning unit at the Bay City Wal-Mart, a move which he claims to be his way of sticking to the "man" from beyond the grave. A memorial service is planned immediately following at the cheese slicer in the deli. Donations for any ensuing clean-up or civil law suits can be sent directly to Tim’s student loan officer.
Lover of discount diary and expired ales and lagers, Bay City resident Tim Kenyon expired recently in a manner yet to be determined by the team of doctors scouring his remains for any sign that there was something wrong with him in the first place. Originally fermented and bottled in the Live Free or Die state (that’s New Hampshire to all non-native New Englanders), Tim relocated to the four corners of the U.S. to places as far away as San Francisco, CA and Reno, Nevada to eventually settle on the shores of the Saginaw River where he free floats on a daily basis with the scores of fish who can’t seem to find it in themselves to submerge into the murky depths. Tim prided himself on his ability to play with words even though the scoreboard being maintained by his agent has reveals he is fighting a losing battle. When not writing, he loved to stand in front of people and pretend he knew stuff he believed they wanted to know. Sometimes one or two of them would even smile or have something to say back to him. That always made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Tim is survived by his spouse, JodiAnn, a wordsmith/teacher/poet/mother-of-his-babies, son, Estlin, who is a four-year-old currently being possessed by the mind and spirit of a twelve-year old, and daughter, Lucy, who can’t not smile even in the case of diaper rash. What a treat, he used to say.
Tim plans to be cremated and have his ashes thrown into the industrial-sized fan running the air conditioning unit at the Bay City Wal-Mart, a move which he claims to be his way of sticking to the "man" from beyond the grave. A memorial service is planned immediately following at the cheese slicer in the deli. Donations for any ensuing clean-up or civil law suits can be sent directly to Tim’s student loan officer.
posted by Tim Kenyon at
10:53 AM
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