Fussy Pharmacists and Funerals

Today when I visited, Heinz was busy working on his drive way. he had put down crushed gravel and was fixing the entrance to his drive, making sure that water would run down the hill instead of his driveway. It was a cool, dark day and I didn't waste much time outside before venturing into the house to see what Gertrude was up to. I came in through the basement entrance and caught her napping in her recliner with a blanket and pillow. It seems that's what she does most days now, and it worries me a bit. She is not moving around enough and I know it's not good for her to simply sit around without much stimulation and exercise. She was happy to have some company and  seemed a bit embarrassed to have been caught napping. I usually tease her in these situations, but knowing she doesn't feel too well these days, I said nothing.
She did however tell me that she had ventured out to the pharmacy with her walker. The pharmacy is a constant source of trouble for her. I sort of feel sorry for the pharmacist. Gertrude is always mystified that she can't get refills on prescriptions before certain dates and that there are little numbers called "refill numbers" which determine whether she gets medication or not. Today she decided that the pharmacist was just a little too fussy about all these things. "Nice girl," she figures, "just takes things a little too precise."
Then out of the blue, she asked me if I had thought about funerals lately. I suspected the question was due to her not feeling strong these days.
I told her that as a matter of fact I had and that I had been looking into it before and decided that I wanted cremation and a nice jar. I told her funerals weren't too important to me since I feel it will only be my body to be taken care of since my soul won't be there anymore. I jokingly, told her that I really didn't care what would happen after I was in my choice of vases....which by the way I was picking up at one of the local department stores. No way would I pay the funeral parlour prices for myself. They run around eight hundred dollars roughly whilst I can get a nice container for less than a hundred. Gertrud was pretty wide eyed at my attitude, but then even wanted to know which department store I thought I could find a suitable container.
I told her that I felt dying is all a part of living. You get born and every day thereafter you get closer to dying. I told Gertrude not to worry about it, since no one knows when their turn is and that my turn could come sooner than hers for all we know, since it has nothing to do with age necessarily.
(Talk about trying to be cheerful and simply factual about funerals!) And oh, yeah, she didn't argue with me that it would be awful if I was to go first either. Hmm.