A spiffy new funeral home opened up the road with a whiz-bang open house and tour of the facilities. You could say this was the big "dress up" rehearsal, um, social event of the weekend. Somehow I missed it, which could have been a good thing.
My guess is it's uncomfortable to sip on a hot cup of coffee, munch on finger sandwiches and hot barbeque wings that close to a crematorium and keep your mind on the tour guide's spiel. Though, one could reason that a GE microwave is just a GE microwave, regardless of its size.
It's puzzling that I didn't receive an invitation; I limp along like all my old buddies.
This caused me to ponder what kind of market research goes into making up invitation lists for the HEREAFTER line of business. People expecting a profit don't have expensive affairs without trying to sell you something. They may answer to a higher calling or be on some celestial email list that I'm not on, though I didn't think that was possible. It is possible they, like say, Shirley McClain and Dennis Kucinich, are on an inside track about what's going on up beyond the cracked ozone layer.
But most likely they hired college kids to go to the VFW, Coot's Breakfast Club or Corner Drug Store and hand out Grand Opening flyers, with "free food" highlighted. I must have been taking a nap.
Of course what I'm passing along is second hand. I merely listened to the guys between golf shots and cussing. That free food was served was no surprise as it's the main draw of any social event within, say, ten or fifteen miles.
Evidently a lot of things got opened-up on this Sunday afternoon-doors, caskets, soda pop, bottled water, and a new can of worms. Though, I'm less sure about caskets. I assume they were opened as you wouldn't go to an auto dealership grand-affair without touching, sniffing, and checking out the seats for comfort.
"So what about the can of worms," you ask?
With the funeral home on a prominent hill as a constant reminder, it's a little too easy to drop in and ask about the casket or urn combo special of the day. Already there's plenty subliminal pressure to preserve the little woman's status in the DAR, bridge and art clubs, and standing appointment at Su Tu's Nail Salon.
It's a common persuasion that the honoree should specify what he or she wants at the last soiree, but I've never been able to reconcile this logic. Why should someone not eating at the dining room table, nor cleaning up the dishes, select the menu? That same someone is not likely to pay the VISA bill next month.
The little widow knows what's going to keep her playing first string in the game of life. So why shouldn't she choose the casket or urn combo and obit unless, of course, you've got something peculiar going on?
If it's about the young golf pro upon whom she's lavishing most of your social security check, that's a whole different ball game. Or if you're upset she's planning to give your clubs to her next husband or sell them for five-dollars in a garage sale.
Or . . . like a fellow duffer here at the club, you've got an irrational fear of not seeing your old golfing buddies again. He picked out a secluded spot on the golf course where all his prostate-challenged playmates stopped for relief, and requested his cremains be sprinkled there. "That way," he reasoned, "I'll get to see my old buddies two or three times a week."
That's a touching tribute to the bonds of friendship and a clear argument favoring the honoree as the RIP decider. Not many wives could accept the warm sentiment, and irony, of being whizzed down the hillside for the sake of old times.
In the final audit I suspect the Good Lord doesn't care what kind of earthly finale you have or who plans it.
"Life's not about hitting one over the fence in the bottom of the ninth, but whether you've touched all the bases" ... either Yogi, or moi.
Rx for life: Light exercise, moderate eating, heavy laughter
Great article, John. I especially enjoyed the part about the golf course, since my husband is an avid golfer. I have joked that I will sprinkle his remains on the golf course.
Fran, thanks for your comment and pardon my delay in responding. Only a golfer or those who live with a golfer can relate. A sense of humor is a wonderful gift and elixir. Best to you, John Brazell
» left by Paul Schroeder from nyc (17 days 23 hours ago.)
The former owner of D.C. Comics arranged to have his ashes mixed in with the ink used in the publications that followed after his death to stay "a part" of the process, which gave me a great idea.
I will arrange that my ashes be mixed into the mashed potatoes in the high school students' cafeteria so that I too can be 'one' with everyone!
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