I’ll spare you some of the squishiest details, but you needn’t worry about your prosthetics, or artificial hips, knees, or other non-biodegradable augmentations. They’ll be filtered out of your soil after three months of, um, well, marinating. The vessel in which this all takes place resembles a rough-hewed barrel-casket, except instead of being draped in satins and velvet, it’s packed with wood chips and straw. The thing also has wheels so it can be rolled around for the oxygenation and agitation needed to compost, sort of like your backyard composter.

Throw in a few table scraps and worms, and you’re in business. Okay, no, they don’t really do that — but barring religious objections, what would be wrong with becoming, say, a magnolia instead of a mummy?

I admit to thinking about this from time to time. I’ve even suggested to my husband that we carve out a little parcel of land so we can be buried quickly and skip the indignity of embalming. Perhaps, having grown up around my uncle’s funeral business in Columbia, S.C., I know too much.