expiration date

For the past several years I've maintained a supply of "just in case" items in the back closet. Canned meat, veggies, fruits, trail mix, crackers, hot sauce, single serving coffee packets, cases of bottled water, packages of cat and dog food, and lots of bathroom tissue.

You know, the kinds of things that if for some reason I can't get out and go to the store, at least we'll be able to survive for a few weeks.

I rotate the stock on a regular basis, and discovered last week that the canned corn had gone past its expiration date. What to do? Don't want to serve it here at home. Certainly can't give it to the food pantry, the liability issues there are too vast to comprehend.

Discovered that the birds in the back yard like it just fine. Especially the crows. And I don't worry about their digestion.

I'm glad there's no expiration date on my life. Well, ok, maybe there is. But it's not out there plain as day for me to read. And, yet, what if there was? What would I do if I knew the definite date for my last day on earth? How would I spend it?

I'd like to think that there would be time to see my children and grandchildren. Not to spend it in tears of sadness for what would soon be lost, but in gladness for memories, with a few moments to share joyous hopes for their future.

Time with my friends, to tell them how much their love and kindness and prayers and emails have meant to me.

Time enough to write emails and letters to far-flung cousins.

Time with my four-footed buddies. Once more 'round the yard, boys.

And time with Jim. Not to talk, for it's all been said and more than once, but just to be.

If you knew your expiration date, what would you do?