The Ice Bucket Challenge

One of my dearest friends said not too long ago:

If I drop dead tomorrow I do not want the coroner to find carrot sticks and yogurt in my stomach—I want him to find chocolate cake.

It seemed last week that every other posting on my Facebook newsfeed had a video of a friend or famous person pouring a bucket of ice and water over their head.

It was a challenge—to raise both awareness and funding to cure the disease ALS.

The campaign was ingenious—a brilliant use of social media. The challenge itself required no special skills and the materials to complete the challenge were ubiquitous.

And I suppose the underlying message was that while the challenge-ee experienced momentary discomfort, victims of ALS faced extreme physical discomfort on a daily basis.

 One should be grateful not to have a debilitating disease.

But I would be lying if in watching all those people pour ice and water over their heads there was not a teeny tiny voice whispering  from the back of my head which said Please God I hope no one nominates me.

I really don’t want to douse myself---even for a good cause.

Which is when I came to the conclusion that if I were in charge I would initiate a different kind of challenge: The Chocolate Cake Challenge. I would like to see people eating a nice piece of frosted devil’s food cake on camera because who wouldn’t like to eat a piece of chocolate cake “for charity”? Who wouldn’t want a noble excuse for a decadent task? Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines might even subsidize it—or donate a portion of the profit from the increased sales. Even Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig and Nutrisystem would have no option but to endorse it.

And the underlying message would be that the experienced pleasure in eating chocolate cake is cause for gratefulness—gratefulness that one is healthy enough to taste and swallow—that life is sweet yet fleeting---and there is glory in the things we take for granted.

I think I just might be on to something.

Marie Antoinette might finally be vindicated for proclaiming Let them eat cake.

And it is from my dearest friend who laughingly wishes a coroner to find chocolate cake in her stomach after her demise that I have learned that moments are momentary—and the only certainty is uncertainty. She wears a bracelet that reads it is what it is. For she lives with challenges of her own—and inspires me to tabulate even the most inconsequential blessing and to shoo away any discomfort that rings my bell for a sojourn visitation.