Home Again
Apr. 8th, 2008 03:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydamorehouseWe're home (as of last night). Well, most of "we" are, anyway, as Shawn is traveling back today, having stayed an extra day in order to help finish cleaning out the house. For those of you who tune in for writing related things, I posted over at SF Novelists this afternoon: "My Dragon Takes Your Starship," which is actually a continued discussion that was started over on Wyrdsmith's by Eleanor Arnason (in true Eleanor fashion called simply "Post #3") about why fantasy out sells science fiction.
The funeral, of course, sucked. I'm not a big fan of Christian funerals with their focus on "the final reward" -- often to the exclusion of mentioning anything about the deceased -- but I though that Vicor Natalie, in particular, did a good job, well, making Pat (Shawn's dad) part of the whole ceremony. She even read a couple of lines from one of the cards Mason and I sent down, which was nice. The only strange part is that she called Pat (and then later Mason) a "hearer of souls." As Jonathan, my nephew, pointed out later, you could almost hear the reverberations every time she said that phrase. I got the feeling it was AN IMPORTANT THEME straight out of whatever Bible study workshop the congregation was into right now.
Then there was the weird guy that Jon and I first mistook for a "funeral crasher" (ala "Wedding Crashers.") Even so, he was Mr. Tacky. He gladhandled everyone there, like a politician on the circuit, and then whipped out his harmonica and took requests from the bereaved. When he came to the misfits table (Jon, Don, Mark & I) he got the cold shoulder, particularly when he started talking about his life on the railroad and how he did his job drunk.... especially the nightshifts, which I pointed out was a GREAT time to have impaired judgement. Then he tried out that old "why are they talking about Global Warming when this was a colder than average winter?" To which I said, "I believe the term is climate change." Mark got his zinger in when Mr. Tacky wanted to know if we'd like to hear anything on the harmonica and joked about not having brought his tin cup (to ask for tips), to which Mark replied, "because THAT would be tacky."
It was all very surreal. Except, I have to say that the Goddess always finds a way to bring me comfort. During all the "reborn into Christ" stuff that tends to make me twitch, I noticed that the sactuary was covered in butterfly images. Of course, it was just Easter and the butterfly is a great metaphor for the soul for Christians as well, but it also works for ME. And, if I needed any more indication that my muttering of "the Circle Song" was welcome while a duet sang the Apostles' Creed, a stag appeared out of the woods when we were packing Karen's car with the flowers. No kidding. A huge, beautiful deer stepped out of a little wooded lot (this Church was mostly in a residental area) and stared, wide-eyed at us all for the longest time. It called to mind the time when I was up in Grand Rapids with Pat and Margaret. We were sitting around the dinner table after the sun had gone down, and pop, the motion lights came on and there was this deer less than two feet away. It took our breaths away. What I loved about Pat then is that there were no jokes about wishing he'd had his gun, just an awestruck appreciation of Nature, with a captial N.
Plus, though the rest of the people gathered were impressed with the presence of the deer, I noticed, too, a pair of Canada geese who were enjoying a puddle of spring mud. Geese, as you know, mate for life. So did Pat. Twice.
The funeral, of course, sucked. I'm not a big fan of Christian funerals with their focus on "the final reward" -- often to the exclusion of mentioning anything about the deceased -- but I though that Vicor Natalie, in particular, did a good job, well, making Pat (Shawn's dad) part of the whole ceremony. She even read a couple of lines from one of the cards Mason and I sent down, which was nice. The only strange part is that she called Pat (and then later Mason) a "hearer of souls." As Jonathan, my nephew, pointed out later, you could almost hear the reverberations every time she said that phrase. I got the feeling it was AN IMPORTANT THEME straight out of whatever Bible study workshop the congregation was into right now.
Then there was the weird guy that Jon and I first mistook for a "funeral crasher" (ala "Wedding Crashers.") Even so, he was Mr. Tacky. He gladhandled everyone there, like a politician on the circuit, and then whipped out his harmonica and took requests from the bereaved. When he came to the misfits table (Jon, Don, Mark & I) he got the cold shoulder, particularly when he started talking about his life on the railroad and how he did his job drunk.... especially the nightshifts, which I pointed out was a GREAT time to have impaired judgement. Then he tried out that old "why are they talking about Global Warming when this was a colder than average winter?" To which I said, "I believe the term is climate change." Mark got his zinger in when Mr. Tacky wanted to know if we'd like to hear anything on the harmonica and joked about not having brought his tin cup (to ask for tips), to which Mark replied, "because THAT would be tacky."
It was all very surreal. Except, I have to say that the Goddess always finds a way to bring me comfort. During all the "reborn into Christ" stuff that tends to make me twitch, I noticed that the sactuary was covered in butterfly images. Of course, it was just Easter and the butterfly is a great metaphor for the soul for Christians as well, but it also works for ME. And, if I needed any more indication that my muttering of "the Circle Song" was welcome while a duet sang the Apostles' Creed, a stag appeared out of the woods when we were packing Karen's car with the flowers. No kidding. A huge, beautiful deer stepped out of a little wooded lot (this Church was mostly in a residental area) and stared, wide-eyed at us all for the longest time. It called to mind the time when I was up in Grand Rapids with Pat and Margaret. We were sitting around the dinner table after the sun had gone down, and pop, the motion lights came on and there was this deer less than two feet away. It took our breaths away. What I loved about Pat then is that there were no jokes about wishing he'd had his gun, just an awestruck appreciation of Nature, with a captial N.
Plus, though the rest of the people gathered were impressed with the presence of the deer, I noticed, too, a pair of Canada geese who were enjoying a puddle of spring mud. Geese, as you know, mate for life. So did Pat. Twice.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-08 11:07 pm (UTC)Funerals almost have to be surreal, don't they? A funeral is one of those intense experiences that feels too real. Or at least, it should be -- if it's going to be worth remembering. A bland funeral isn't very fitting for anyone important. But then, I guess the point is to remember the person, not the ceremony.
Funeral musings
Date: 2008-04-09 01:12 am (UTC)Gerri
no subject
Date: 2008-04-10 02:30 pm (UTC)~Gretchen
P.S. I'm glad you were able to find some spiritual comfort at the funeral. I hope Shawn did too.