Monday, January 13, 2003

DNA swirling somewhat the same, me and my sister and five girl cousins (1 missing as she's currently residing in gai Paris) simultaneously pallbore and experienced feisty and low-volumed outbursts of laughter.
My sister, the youngest niece of maiden Aunt Marion, brought up the rear and when she complained I said Listen, Sue, in the cousinly productions we did as kids you always played the Mexican visitor in the straw hat, so just deal with it.
We realized that the old North Buffalo church aisle was ill-equipped for a modern/wider coffin (according to the funeral guy) plus bodies on either side. My sister was right behind me and had both her hands planted under the coffin as if she were driving it solo down the aisle. She suddenly (and thankfully) noted that at that speed the six of us on either side were having a rough time managing the space between the old pews... and that she would also be mowing down the funeral director at the helm (and back to coffin/gurney/us) any second.
Then when it was time to bring up the gifts to the priest me + 2 cousins were like the Keystone Cops, heading off into various directions, reconvening at the steps then gathering up said gifts and then heading into three new and differing directions. More suppressed laughter.
Later a non-deceased aunt said There should have been arrows painted on the floor to direct you girls.
Better laughter than hysterical sobbing, I say. Life is for the living, and the laughing, dig?
The priest gave me my intro and called Wallace Stevens one of this country's greatest poets.
I don't usually but I really liked this Catholic priest, very hip to things cultural.
I read Stevens' words without a hitch and in my little intro added that my aunt loved LAUGHTER, and looked up at the cousins in front of me.
When the last drops of water were flung by the hipster priest onto the steely box the sun came out and shot through a rose window on the northernly side somehow and when we left the sun was blazing.
Now back to my familiar and comforting world of deadlines and wordy purpose.
Words and words and words.

No comments: