A story, for lz4005. An odd little thing.
The picture in lz4005's journal and the comments about the clown car, etc. reminded me of a story from my own, distant past.
Years before I was born, my parents left their non-lucrative, but highly satisfying teaching jobs in Alaska to move back to small town ND. My grandfather was on the brink of death, and my father was needed to take over the family affairs. Grampa died with I was in 5th grade. I wasn't terribly upset by this - he'd been sick for a long time, most of my conscious life, in fact. But he was my grandpa, and I missed him. It was the first death in my family during my life time, so it was somewhat new and scary. Why, if his passing (and isn't it usually a rude and smelly thing when someone "passes" something?) is such a blessing, is everyone crying? But this is neither the time and the place for a philosophical discourse. This is a story.
After the funeral, there was the traditional .05 mph trek with lights on from the church to the cemetery. It was early spring, the ground was still largely frozen, little white bb's were pelting us all as we stood around the really incongruous carpeting of bright green astroturf around the hole in the ground. They lowered the casket into the ground - and then everyone just walked away! Grampa is there, in a box, in the hole, in the cold - and they're ALL just... walking away!?! I was rather disturbed by this, and muttered such to my siblings and cousin. We accosted my mom with this outrage. I have always loved my mom, and in this moment she didn't fail me - she went to speak with the funeral director who said we were welcome to stay, and he'd give us a ride back to the church, but it might be cramped.
So, we stuck around and watched the backhoe which had been parked a discreet distance away drive up and start scooping the pile of dirt into the hole. They couldn't do it all... can't quite remember why. But the funeral director - the same nice man who had very kindly opened the bottom half of the casket to allay my concerns that Grampa wasn't wearing any pants, socks or shoes (why else would they keep the bottom closed??) and reassured me in a whisper that Grampa was also wearing underwear - walked us back to his car.
The hearse. :-) And, of course, there are no seats in the back of the hearse. We were all fairly giddy, but still, none of us really wanted to ride in the back. So, my mother, my sister, my brother, my cousin and myself all somehow crammed into the passenger seat of the hearse next to the funeral director. This being 2 decades ago, no one even blinked at the lack of seat belt. He turned on the radio (after making us swear that we'd never tell a soul at his work) and we drove back to the church all laughing and singing along to 'Rockin' Robin' on the oldies station.
The couple of cars we passed gave us the oddest looks. I wonder why...
Anyway, that's my story.
Years before I was born, my parents left their non-lucrative, but highly satisfying teaching jobs in Alaska to move back to small town ND. My grandfather was on the brink of death, and my father was needed to take over the family affairs. Grampa died with I was in 5th grade. I wasn't terribly upset by this - he'd been sick for a long time, most of my conscious life, in fact. But he was my grandpa, and I missed him. It was the first death in my family during my life time, so it was somewhat new and scary. Why, if his passing (and isn't it usually a rude and smelly thing when someone "passes" something?) is such a blessing, is everyone crying? But this is neither the time and the place for a philosophical discourse. This is a story.
After the funeral, there was the traditional .05 mph trek with lights on from the church to the cemetery. It was early spring, the ground was still largely frozen, little white bb's were pelting us all as we stood around the really incongruous carpeting of bright green astroturf around the hole in the ground. They lowered the casket into the ground - and then everyone just walked away! Grampa is there, in a box, in the hole, in the cold - and they're ALL just... walking away!?! I was rather disturbed by this, and muttered such to my siblings and cousin. We accosted my mom with this outrage. I have always loved my mom, and in this moment she didn't fail me - she went to speak with the funeral director who said we were welcome to stay, and he'd give us a ride back to the church, but it might be cramped.
So, we stuck around and watched the backhoe which had been parked a discreet distance away drive up and start scooping the pile of dirt into the hole. They couldn't do it all... can't quite remember why. But the funeral director - the same nice man who had very kindly opened the bottom half of the casket to allay my concerns that Grampa wasn't wearing any pants, socks or shoes (why else would they keep the bottom closed??) and reassured me in a whisper that Grampa was also wearing underwear - walked us back to his car.
The hearse. :-) And, of course, there are no seats in the back of the hearse. We were all fairly giddy, but still, none of us really wanted to ride in the back. So, my mother, my sister, my brother, my cousin and myself all somehow crammed into the passenger seat of the hearse next to the funeral director. This being 2 decades ago, no one even blinked at the lack of seat belt. He turned on the radio (after making us swear that we'd never tell a soul at his work) and we drove back to the church all laughing and singing along to 'Rockin' Robin' on the oldies station.
The couple of cars we passed gave us the oddest looks. I wonder why...
Anyway, that's my story.