Tag Fun

Till Death Do Us Part

Michael Leave a comment

She of We asked He of We if he saw the story about the feuding children who were posting competing obituaries.  Oddly enough, He of We who seems invariably to come across only the most bizarre news while trying to find the local weather, sports scores, or lottery numbers, hadn’t.  Since he can’t let much get by him he went in search and found not only that which She of We had referenced, but several other articles decrying bad behavior in the world of remembrances.  Let’s catch you up on what we found.

That which started it all started in of all places, Florida.  The Sunshine State wasn’t sporting very bright people when a seemingly doting son decided he was going to vent his resentments with his siblings in mom’s printed 15 Minutes.  His paid tribute billed himself as the loving son and the other two children as the daughter who betrayed her and the son who broke her heart.  Such a close family.  Word is that the daughter wrote a second obituary but that one seems to be unavailable for viewing to the Internet world.  There was one article that said it contained basically the same information as that of the first without the colorful descriptions of the siblings.  And mom’s age was different.  Maybe they weren’t so close.

It got us to thinking about the etiquette behind obituaries.  We’ve written about workplace etiquette (Fire Them All), shopping etiquette (Clean Up on Aisle Ten), restaurant etiquette (Terms of Appreciation, You want fries with that?), even parking lot etiquette (Parking Wars).  We didn’t think we’d have to ever discuss death etiquette.  Apparently we do.  Not only have we now seen how people can’t keep their pettinesses out of the paper, we’re also aware of viewings, wakes, and services which have been interrupted by arguments, fights, and visits by the police who weren’t there visiting the deceased.

Clearly the best way to approach this issue is proactively.  We plan to write our own obituaries.  And while we’re at it, plan the rest of the party as well.  Who knows us better?   We’ve all read obituaries that just aren’t quite right.  Is the surviving son in Sonoma Sam or Sid?  Didn’t daughter Debbie divorce Dick the dolt?  Since when did he belong to the Loyal Order of the Goose?  It’s understandable.  Obituaries get written in times of extreme stress and grief.  And apparently nobody is checking them too closely for content.  We’ll get the details right.

Some other details about our last hurrah need to be worked out also.  It’s not that we want to celebrate death but we both are of a faith that looks forward to an afterlife with our God and those who have already gone.  You guys left behind have to learn to suck it up and wait your turn.  So no mournful music, no dreary dress, no dull visitations.  We prefer lots of light, pictures, upbeat music, and something spiffy to wear.  We don’t want to look like we’re going to a funeral at our funerals.   We think perhaps a bright blouse, tropical print shirt, and maybe a straw hat at a jaunty angle is a good tone to set for the rest of the crowd.   

Speaking of tone, no organ music at the funeral home.  There are stacks of jazz CDs in both of our cars.  Pick out a couple of handfuls and hustle them over to the mortuary.  If they can’t figure out how to work a CD, find someone under the age of 30.  He or she will be able to download them all onto an MP3 player to make it go on through 2 or 3 visitation sessions without having to change it.  At the church we’d like to hear some upbeat scripture readings.  David chatted about topics plenty more upbeat than “the valley of the shadow of death.”  Fast forward a couple of psalms to “remember your love and kindness…not my sins from when I was younger” for something more chipper and probably a little more accurate where we’re concerned.

Now, getting us around on that last day.  Do we really have to use a hearse?  Dull, dull, dull.  There’s a perfectly good red convertible in He of We’s garage.  Prop up Whichever of We in the passenger seat and let’s go out for a spin.  That just leaves the closing music.  Everybody has passed on by, said “see you later,” and now we need some final travelling music.  She of We thought perhaps, “And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain” sung by nobody other than Frank.  It is a terrific send-off for her with the living a full life, tasting it all, and doing it her way.  He of We is leaning more toward keeping the party going and is calling on Irving Berlin to pave the way with Alexander’s Ragtime Band.  We have to wait until halfway through the chorus but there the lyrics say it all, “Come on along, come on along, let me take you by the hand. Up to the man, up to the man, who’s the leader of the band.”  

We know it’s not a terribly original idea.  People have been making their own final arrangements for some time.  You take away a lot of stress at an already stressful time for stressed out people who aren’t always thinking their best.  We figure we’ll pick the mid-price packages all the way around preserving as much of the inheritance as we can and nobody has to feel guilty about taking the cheap way out.  Between the cool clothes, upbeat music, optimistic readings, and cheery bon voyage, nobody will notice we’re going in little more than a high class pine box.  And if they do, nobody can blame anybody but us.  And frankly, we really won’t care.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

That Play’s The Thing, That Thing They Do

Michael Leave a comment

Have you ever been to a local community theater production of … anything? 

Those of you who answered yes are excused from the remainder of this missive.  You’re welcome to stay but you probably won’t read anything you don’t already know.  Then again, maybe you better stick around.  You never know what’s going to march across this screen.

Those of you who answered no are hereby put on double secret probation and you can’t get off of it until you go.  For Heaven’s sake, go!

Really, we are that taken by the power of the local community theater, from the over-acting to the kitschy program books, to the recorded music, to the cramped theaters.  This is entertainment.

Ok, this is also a little weird.  Grown people reliving their high school spring musical days?  Actually, it’s not so weird.  Grown people honing the talents they discovered in one of the “youth is wasted on the young” activities we’ve all been a part of but few keep alive.

Think of the other activities that made up your younger days and how you felt about them then.  Swimming every weekend at the local pool, knowing for sure that Greg Louganis was no match for your diving skills.  Confidently matching across the football field stepping two, turning left, stepping eight, twice in place, turn right, all while playing the flight song on your clarinet.  Even Benny Goodman couldn’t match your style.  Speeding along on the Schwinn, Day 4 of the Tour de France and your fourth day in the yellow shirt.  Taking the layup to the hoop, your hands above the rim, your signature shoes shimmering in the light of the studio lamps filming the commercial that used to feature that has been, Michael Somebodyorother.  Healthy activities every one.  Healthy imaginations to go with them.  Imagination.  A commodity many fear will never again reach the peak when we were young now that computer games have overtaken recreation as the child’s national pastime.

Now wait a minute, who is to say it has.  Don’t kids still ride bikes, and swim on weekends, and play high school sports, and march in bands?  Maybe we’re being a bit unfair.  Their imagination is still working.  It’s just taking a different turn.  And there are still high school musicals every spring.  (You knew eventually we’d get back to that, didn’t you?)

Those high school musicals.  Who didn’t walk out on to the stage knowing his or her next entrance would be at the Tony Awards?  But while the swimmer and the musician and the sports figure in us have stepped aside so we can fit into our adult life, the actor has found the community theater.  The actor, the director, the stage hand, the producer, the set decorator, the wardrobe and make-up artists all still have a home, a legitimate home where imagination still features raising the silver medallion of the masks comedy and tragedy.  So we applaud the actor, the director, the stage hand, and the others for sharing their imagination and presenting some of the most energetic live theater you’ll ever experience.

Paul Newman said, “To be an actor you have to be a child.”  We agree.  You have to have the wonder that children know and adults crave.  While the professional gets the great opportunity to live that wonder throughout a lifetime most of us only get fleeting moments of it as adults.  Throughout those little theaters tucked away in every neighborhood where lines are tortuously rehearsed, directions are painstakingly prepared, and stages are carefully dressed, the wonder of youth bathes everyone who enters.  Even the audience.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Six Weeks

Michael 2 Comments

Happy Groundhog Day!  For over 225 years Phil has been the reigning prognosticator of Punxsutawney Pennsylvania perusing his property for signs of his shadow to predict the waning winter’s weather.

What began as an adaptation of Candlemas for the local farmers not too distantly removed from their German homeland now brings an estimated 30,000 people to the Pennsylvania home of Punxsutawney Phil for 4 days of planned events highlighted by the shadow sighting on national news broadcast across our homeland. 

Now here we could tell you all the different things one can do in Phil’s little hamlet.  Who will be playing, singing, dancing, and crafting.  We could guess how many television cameras will be in use.  We could compare the last 2, 5, 10, 25, 100, 150, or 200 predictions and the actual results.  We could talk about the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club or The Inner Circle.  But really, you don’t need to hear from us if last year’s prediction was on the money or how much money the park vendors made. 

Nope, we’re just going to marvel at all that has become of our little rodent friend and all of his friends living in the sunny or shadowy mountains on the edge of the Allegheny National Forest.  Phil has his own official souvenir web-site.  The Inner Circle (those are the guys who pull him from the stump, we mean help him from his hollow) have an annual formal ball.  There are 60 chapters of the Groundhog Club from California to Florida and chapters in Canada, England, and Iraq.  There’s even an Internet chapter.  (The Bluegrass Chapter of Louisville, Kentucky was chartered on Feb. 2 2002, that’s 02-02-02.  There’s a lottery number waiting to be played!)  Other than the iconic “Groundhog Day” movie there isn’t much in the way of multimedia for our little friend but we did find 5 songs celebrating Groundhog Day including “Groundhog Blues” by John Lee Hooker. 

Unlike Candlemas in the 17th century we really don’t need Groundhog Day to tell us if we’re almost done with winter and can breathe a sigh of relief over our dwindling food and firewood supply or if the cold will stay with us for another 6 weeks and challenge our larder.  Groundhog Day in the 21st century is a time when grown men dress in formal attire and play with field animals, when people gather to figure out just how long Phil Conners (Bill Murray’s character in “Groundhog Day”) was stuck in Punxsutawney, when people get married in Phil’s Wedding Chapel  by the mayor of Punxsutawney (weddings on the half-hour, call ahead to get on the schedule), when it’s ok to be seen in public with a hat on your head that looks like a groundhog emerging from a tree stump.

It’s a time when it’s perfectly acceptable not to take yourself too seriously.  And we could probably use six more weeks of that.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

You Get What You Pay For

Michael Leave a comment

Around here every summer there is a one day outdoor jazz festival and a weekend long blues festival.  Quite often there are on consecutive weekends.  This year they were on the same weekend.  We hate to miss either since jazz and blues are two of our three favorite genre, the third being almost everything else.  We also hate to miss either because they are free.  Sort of.  The jazz festival is free if you bring a donation for the local food bank.  The blues festival’s first night is also free with a donation to the same food bank.

Around here a lot is “free.”  Just in the past year we’ve gotten free discount coupon books (for a blood donation), had two free glasses of wine (for a donation to the local cancer society), had a free buffet (for a donation to a local hospital), saw a free movie (another blood donation), and sat through a free evening of songs by two of the best vocalists between the Atlantic and the Pacific (another donation to fight cancer).

Here’s the funny thing about these “free” events.  Somewhere between the giving and the getting, we found a great blues band, some excellent wine, a couple dynamite appetizer recipes, an up and coming jazz trumpeter,  a new passion for Saturday matinees, and two of the best vocalists between the Atlantic and the Pacific. 

There were even some truly “free” events we stumbled across.  Summer evening movie nights in the local park, big band concerts at the county park, free skate at an outdoor ice rink to celebrate the season, access to that 400+ mile bike path that rolls through 3 states and the District of Columbia, a drive along the back roads through the dappled sunshine in an open convertible.   Oh, one way or another we paid for these – from taxes to gasoline, nothing is really free.  Is it?  No matter how you look at it, if it didn’t involve the transfer of folding money from a pocket to an outstretched hand to us it’s free and free is a pretty good price.

Another thing free is, free is an opportunity to see more of the person you’re sharing free with.  You know that sometime during the event one of you will turn to the other and say, not too shabby … considering what we paid.  And from there a whole conversation ensues about the event, the venue, the surroundings, the other participants, the planners, the doers.  You soon find yourself quite engrossed in each other’s observations and each other’s opinions, and each other’s memories, and each other.  So engrossed you don’t really care why you are there, just that you are there.  And that “you” is plural.

Whether the beneficiaries were those who rely on the food bank to make it from meal to meal or us recharging our batteries joy riding from there to here, there’s a different word that describes all this free stuff. 

It’s not free.  It’s priceless.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?