Father, I hope this can will do; it’s Folgers. You loved your coffee black, mud strong. I remember how to make it, Water in the ***. Float the grounds. Boil ’til they sink. Campfire style, you called it. That last cup, pour careful, so as not to get the grit. I remember how it went.
But Father, once I do this once we commit your ashes to the sea; once I pour this can of dust into the river, what then?
What should I do with this old empty coffee can?
My father, ever pragmatic, wanted a three pound Folgers Coffee can as an urn.