I know some fun people in life, and my Aunt Pat is one of the most fun.
She took me on my first roller coaster ride when I was five years old. Actually, it was a kiddie-coaster at Santa's Village, in the San Bernardino mountains. I was terrified, and she held me close in a secure hug, during the whole ride.
Aunt Pat took my siblings and me to Magic Mountain park in Valencia, several times as we were growing up. She would ride on every roller coaster with us, such as Colossus and the Revolution. She continued to ride with us as we became teenagers and young adults.
Aunt Pat is now in her sixties, and just as outgoing and active as ever, although it's been a while since any of us were last on a roller coaster. She did ride through all of the water flumes at Soak City, last year, with me and my tween-age niece.
I asked her if she might want to be cremated, when her time comes. I wasn't trying to be intentionally morbid.
"I was thinking of taking a portion of your ashes on a roller coaster," I told her. "I would let your ashes fly once we started speeding down the first incline."
Aunt Pat laughed. She loved the idea.
"Just make sure you're sitting in the very last seat," she replied. "I wouldn't want to be scattered into some one's eyes."
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