Feted and Ensconced

I loathe funerals. The entire circus: viewing, service, graveyard sobbing while the casket lowers.

Not all people feel this way of course. Funerals tend to be great family reunions. Folks take pictures of the body in the coffin, selfies of themselves with the body and gather in groups for photos that resemble a cheerful event such as a fish fry or church picnic. I can’t count the number of times I asked my mom to identify a group of black and white people (yeah, I’m old) only to hear her reply “Oh, that was taken at Uncle Ollie’s funeral”. To name only one.

My (adopted) father’s funeral in 1978 was about as surreal an event as I’d ever encountered. The body in the coffin didn’t resemble the man I knew in the least and the Baptist preacher pressed into service had a speech impediment and called my father ‘Johnny’, which might have earned him a punch in the nose had the man himself not been dead as a doornail. The graveside service was where I finally woke to the fact that we were going to leave my father there, in the ground. I was the last to leave; the hardest thing I’d done so far in my short life.

I’ve not attended a funeral since and don’t intend to do so. When the inevitable happens I want a Viking send off – well, the cheap redneck version. Put me in a rowboat and push it off into the water armed with an explosive on a timer. Then forget about me because I’m long gone.

While I type this my birth father, whom I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and loving these last three years, is having his funeral in another state. Hope they take good pictures of each other.

Gone

Mac
1972

My Dad is gone. At least I was able to meet him and have a loving relationship with him for a few years.

Remember: Rust never sleeps.

In October?

Some of my lilies have decided to bloom… now. In October. A first!

And here’s a plumeria I planted a couple of months ago. Yes, my beds need work. Well, so does my back. So there. 😉

Hurricane Season

We’re smack dab in the middle of the Atlantic season, between June 1 and November 30. It’s a magical time when people up and down our nation’s coasts clear out market shelves every time the wind blows hard.

Fred is out there. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a storm. He’s just not a hurricane type storm. Winds are projected to remain low and all he’ll really accomplish is dumping tons of liquid on an already saturated state.

Earlier in the summer we experienced massive amounts of rain and for the first time in 20 years I was worried about flooding. I told my Dad at the time that I needed to dig a trench in the front, since encroaching foliage had made the area more of a bog than what it was designed to be: a runoff.

Of course I procrastinated on the trench until this morning.

…and now I’m sitting. 😉

Contrast

Hiya! They call me everything from Angel to Fluffy Butt. I love you!

Wheeee…!

Daisy says hi too.

Last Night

Sometimes… only sometimes… do I groan when the dogs want to go out. Last night was one of those times. Cleaning up after dinner, I wasn’t even aware that the sun was setting. Attentive only to my own needs, the grumbling was audible.

Until I looked up.

Escape

Martin Grelle

The man and I hadn’t been to a proper sit down restaurant since before covid started… and six months before that. I don’t like eating out anymore. The tables seem closer together these days and people are loud, especially children. One of my favorite sounds is kids playing out in the yard or street… but transfer those cries and screams to a booth behind me and food is the last thing I want. Escape becomes a priority.

Continue reading “Escape”

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