There has been more impossibly sad news from home, and this morning started with email from a friend: Okay, you are like me — always able to muddle on through in a stoic manner, no matter what. Consequently, people tend not to worry much about us making it to the other side. We are seen as staunch and indestructible.
She went on to express concern about the recent losses (coming on top of the rest of the year) I have not even begun to address in this journal, and asked if there is anything she can do to help.
Over the weekend Gordon called to check on me, though I was way out on the Fens in my boat and could not return the call.
Later Jean caught me as I sat down to dinner at the Cutter Inn, trying to coax me out for the night, but I had already planned to stay in Ely and listen to the trains.
Mark Mitchell wrote to say he misses me – and oh, how I miss him – and Seattle – and wish I could be there now.
I really do not know what to do with all of this kind attention – it has only been about a year and a half since I decided to be Friendly, Charming, and Have Emotions. But I am nevertheless sincerely appreciative of those friends who have made the effort to look after me after all the sad news.
Jeffrey grew up in a similar macabre NW landscape and he just buried his own grandmother. He performed Ave Maria at the funeral and reported:
Apparently I did a good job because the audience disregarded the sanctity of the memorial and started clapping. I couldn’t help but laugh. Then some old lady who was a friend of the family asked me if I would perform at her funeral. I asked her if she had any idea when that might be so I could pencil her in.
This brings up a very important point: the musical element of major life events. For my first haphazard wedding I played Let’s Go Crazy as the processional. For the second clandestine effort annoyingly crashed by a television news crew I had a homeless Elvis impersonator (or Elvis himself, hard to say).
Mortality is the theme of the moment, and I feel obliged to state that I do not want a funeral. However, I suspect people will organize something, as the living are the ones who decide. I’m a practical sort and have thus chosen a song in advance: The Rainbow Connection.
That is the song we sang at sixth grade graduation, when I knew that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. It is also what I crooned to my babies when they were new to the world and astonished by light and sound. Yes, I do have at least a few sentimental urges. Mock if you will, I don’t care!
Just remember at the critical moment, as my immediate family members will be distraught and collectively lack planning skills.
Also, if the service is conducted in Cambridge it would be awesome if someone could organize my mate the Wonderwall busker to lead the singing. I do not know his name. Someone else will have to sort that out.