Dear Friends, After having a great year of visits with friends and family, and several challenging yet positive days of reflection on life, early spring flowers, the absurdity of western medicine and that most favorable narcotic: laughter, our mother, Poppy Gregory, has finally succumbed to her bout with pancreatic cancer. She died peacefully last night, June 21st, 2012 in her home at 39 Chester Place in Somerville. Poppy always said she wanted the inscription "It's been interesting" on her gravestone. The Gregory family would like to invite you to celebrate that sentiment of hers at a wake on Sunday, June 24th from 2pm-6pm at her house. In Lieu of flowers donations in Poppy's memory may be made to Bread and Puppet Theatre company, c/o Linda Elbow, 700 Andersonville Road, West Glover, Vermont 05875. If you can't make the wake, a service will be held on Monday, June 25th at 10am at St. Athanasios Greek Orthodox Church, Arlington, 4 Appleton Street, (corner of Massachusetts Ave., 781-646-0705). Parking is available in the lot behind the Church. The funeral will be followed by a barbecue lunch at the Rob Gregory's house, 23 Chester Street, Somerville. You may park freely around Chester and Orchard Streets (in the Permit only areas); no tickets will be issued during this event. We hope you can join us. For those able to make the trip, Poppy will be buried next Wednesday in Glover, Vermont. Please check www.faggas.com if you'd like further details. Warmly, Her sons, Robert & Nick Gregory Rob found this article in his Mother's personal death file 1. If I should remain in a persistent vegetative state for more than fifteen years, I would like someone to turn off the TV. 2. If I remain motionless for an extended period and utter only guttural, meaningless sounds, I would like a Guggenheim. 3. If I am unable to recognize or interact with friends or family members, I still expect gifts. 4. If I am unable to feed, clean, or dress myself, I would like to be referred to as "Mr. Trump." 5. Do not resuscitate me before noon. 6. If I do not respond to pinches, pinpricks, rubber mallets, or other medical stimuli, please stop laughing. 7. If I no longer respond to loved ones' attempts at communication, ask them about our last car trip. 8. Once I am allowed to die a painless and peaceful death, I would like my organs donated to whoever can catch them. 9. If my death is particularly dramatic, I would like to be played by Hilary Swank, for a slam dunk. 10. If there is any family dispute over my medical condition, it must be settled with a dreidel. 11. Even if I remain in a persistent vegetative state for more than fifteen years, that still doesn't mean bangs. 12. If my doctor pronounces me brain-dead, I would like to see the new Ashton Kutcher movie. 13. If I remain unconscious during a painful, lingering illness, I would like the following life lessons to be published in a book entitled "Tuesdays with Paul": i. Treasure every moment. ii. Love everyone. iii. If you bought this in hardcover, you're an idiot. 14. I do not wish to be kept alive by any machine that has a "Popcorn" setting. 15. I would like to die at home, surrounded by my attorneys. 16. If my loved ones insist that the cost of my medical care has become an impossible burden, show them a Polaroid of their "beach shack." 17. In lieu of flowers or donations, I would prefer rioting. 18. I would like my entire estate to become the property of my cat, Fluffy, who said, "He wouldn't want to live like this, with that zit." 19. Assume that, even in a coma, I can still hear discussions about my apartment. 20. If there is any talk of canonizing me, please remember that I have often held the elevator for people who were still getting their mail, that I have twice offered a cab to a woman in a fur coat even though I was totally there first, and that I always waited to make derogatory comments until after the couple with the double stroller was a block away. 21. In the event of an open coffin, I would like smoky evening eyes. 22. At my memorial service, I would like my clergyman to begin his eulogy with the words "I suppose, in a way, we all killed him." .