h a l f b a k e r y"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
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A pile of blackened dust recently found at the bottom of the toaster
set me thinking of my dad’s recent cremation, from which he came
back in fine fettle, shiny, pert, wholesome, and shapley once again
to perch on the mantelpiece. My sister arranged the whole thing v.
nicely and pretty cheaply,
so that he was kept at home in bed after
he popped his diaper until the big day..
Which got delayed a few times..crematorium busy : results of a mini
flu epidemic
By that time it couldn’t come too soon, as he seemed to be sucking
his cheeks in and one of his eyes wouldn’t close. (I think that’s why
they put big heavy pennies on the eyelids in the olden days). A ‘new
age’ friend of my sister kept turning up to anoint him with oils (my
sister is a bit of a hippy in some respects) until my mum fell out with
her and forbid any more post-mortem fiddling. (Fair enough - your
man’s still your man I guess)
Finally he got his Viking funeral. Because my sister had made all the
arrangements direct (without a director to cash in - good job sis) we
got to drive up to the back door and have a final goodbye at the
incinerator. What I remember most is how fast and forcefully the
guys there shot him into the furnace when the door opened.- those
of a sensitive disposition would have been advised to look away.
Stupid how sentiment suddenly hits you out the blue- it’s not as if
he could feel the acceleration, I was just anthropomorphising the
corpse. But I was a tiny bit shocked by that, and I pride myself on
being thick-skinned. Nonetheless I peeked a look in the second
incinerator porthole and saw some spare ribs well on their way.
Anyway dad came back, as I said, nicely packaged, beyond fear and
favour, unplagued by feelings - like a small Dalek amongst us.
But to cut to the chase.. remember that amazing breakfast you had
two weeks ago? The thick buttering, the dollop of marmalade, the
tears of laughter over the teapot? Some of it is in there mingled with
the dust and crumbs at the toaster bottom. For a small fee we will
provide a suitable tiny urn to help you remember .. you can put it in
your kitchen spice rack..
[link]
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Thank you, I appreciate those thoughts, [MB, Sk]. Even the
‘oats’ thing [IT], which in its own way was like a painful
slap on the back of condolence too: well intended and just
a different way of reaching out .. actually I think hard slaps
on the back of grieving persons at funerals is to be
thoroughly recommended as the figures for people who die
of choking on hors d’oevres and mini pizzAs at these events
is truly horrific. Then as the ambulance drives off everyone
is left standing looking at the soil being shovelled in the
grave and wondering why they couldn’t just leave it open
for another day or two until the paperwork is done . But
the funeral agencies would never allow such a saving of
effort and money of course.. |
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I propose a solemn toast. |
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