I got a phone call today asking me to play the piano at a funeral on Friday. I am not acquainted with the deceased nor, I think, am I remotely acquainted with anyone who is acquainted with the deceased. Sounds crazy, I know, but its pretty much par for the course in my life. And it isn't the first time such a request has come my way.
If memory serves, it was the summer of 1988. Someone who had grown up in our small city had died and their final wishes were to be funeral-ed and buried here. Kind of an odd request, given that the decedent hadn't spent so much as a weekend here since before World War II, but the ladies' auxilliary at my church has never backed down from a challenge. The service was to take place at a local funeral home and a small group of us was asked to sing. Being teenagers, we were thrilled beyond measure and bursting at the seams to contain our joy.
To say the event was sparsely attended would be an understatement. There were four or five of us in our makeshift choir and I think we outnumbered the attendees. We stood at the front of the room across from the creepily open coffin and sang "How Great Thou Art" with gusto. (I'm kidding. There was no gusto. I'm pretty sure we sounded as bored and uncomfortable as we felt.)
I don't know what actually happened, but I do know that in the middle of our song there arose a great clatter. The best I can figure is that someone dropped a grand piano or something. There was a big bang, the walls shook, and the coffin moved. You read that right. It moved.
What is a group of teenaged girls girls to do in such a situation? Giggle like there's no tomorrow, that's what. We tried very hard to be serious and failed utterly. It was a good ten years before I could keep a straight face through that hymn.
Here's hoping nothing that exciting happens on Friday.
My great-grandfather died at age 97. Not that death isn't always a little sad, but really, we had expected him to go any day now for like ten years. Anyhow, after his funeral, while we were all still dressed in our Sunday best, we all went out to a buffet-style restaurant for dinner. We were apparently having a really good time, as family tends to do when they get together for the first time in years. We were smiling, laughing, telling stories, and our waitress (or whatever you call the person who gets absolutely nothing for you, but they at least take away your dirty dishes)...anyway, our waitress asked what the special occasion was, since we were clearly having fun. "Oh, just a funeral..." Wish I had a photo of her face when she heard that. Who goes out and parties after a funeral? Apparently we do.
ReplyDeleteSo how'd it go? Was it as "Fun" as you anticipated?
ReplyDeleteNot bad. It was short and sweet and to the point. It was kind of awesome, though, how afterword the attendees all went out and stood in the middle of the street in front of the church chain-smoking. Its kind of a busy street so they were blocking traffic. Very classy.
ReplyDeleteWhich causes me to ask the insensitive question:
ReplyDeleteWhat is it about smokers that makes them so oblivious to the world around them? Why are they the only people who don't care where they drop their trash? (Seriously, whenever we pick up trash in the neighborhood, a substantial portion of it is cigarette butts) Why isn't there a national campaign to teach smokers to use ashtrays and/or garbage cans? The slogan could be, "Nobody wants to see your butts!"