2000-08-06
Dear Diary:

    Motored out to the big flea market at Bromont, but it was so stupidly hot there today that after a few hours I was fed up with junking and ready to go home.

����Spent at least 20 minutes trying to find my spousal unit in the swirl of people, and I was starting to radiate crankiness like the gravel was radiating heat.

����Then out of the blue there was my buddy Polly. It has been ages since our paths have crossed, we've drifted apart since our daughters did the same after high school. I have a number of friendships like this--people I like but don't see often, but when our paths cross we just pick up as if no time has passed at all.

����We did the mandatory quickie update on our daughters ... hers is married now and far from home. A little talk about our jobs, spousal units, and then Polly mentioned that her father died in June. I hadn't heard and felt badly, gave her my condolences.

����"We had him cremated, and almost got him buried last week," she said.

����Almost buried?

����Well, it turns out that ages ago, after Polly's grandfather died, Polly's dad went to the priest and bought a cemetery lot right next to the ones that had become the final resting place of his folks, Polly's grandparents.

����Except that the priest sold Polly's father a lot that doesn't exist. There is a lot 31a and a lot 31b, currently the fixed address for Polly's grandparents. Polly's parents have a receipt for lot 31c ... which is where the fence is. We're looking at the eternal rest equivalent of swamp land in Florida, as it were. Uh oh.

����So the gravedigger, not knowing what to do, just opened a small cremation burial hole in the lot where Polly's grandfather is already buried. See, caskets go six feet under, but cremation urns only go about three feet or so.

����The family gets to the cemetery, the urn is already in the hole, and the priest starts the final words. Polly's mom looks closely at where the hole is and says, whoa Nellie Belle, they're stacking the family up like cordwood here.

����There is an embarrassed silence and then the priest 'fesses up to what one of his predecessors in the parish has done. Polly's mother is furious, orders that Polly's father be taken out of the hole right that minute ... so they reach in, get him, dust the urn off and as Polly put it, "Dad is a visitor at my brother's house while we try to get this sorted out."

����As the story was unwinding we're both starting to giggle, the absurdity of it tickles us both. Fortunately, this is a family with a great sense of humour.

����Polly had invited all the clan back to her place for a meal after the burial, a family get together to remember her father. They all decided to go there anyhow, since she had the dinner all ready.

����It was her sister who brought down the house.

����"You know," she told the gang, "I've been to more than one wedding rehearsal dinner, but never thought I'd see a burial rehearsal dinner."

����If I hear about how this all ends, I promise to let you know.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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