Skip to main content

New Grey Hairs And Funeral Clothes

 "The last time I saw you you didn't have grey hair."

As much as that statement kicked my ass, only fools argue with the blatant truth.


I dressed nice.

The minute I walked into the venue I regretted it.

"I hope it's a quick service. I'm going to melt."

I didn't melt, but my deodorant failed.

It was 95 degrees F. in the shade.  It was dead still and stifling hot in the packed auditorium.  My jacket came off before I was seated. I would have taken off my pants but for funeral decorum.


I dress nice out of respect. I will not wear a tie, but in my suit, shirt and hat I do look mighty fine.  I have never embarrassed myself  because of the way I dress up.  Except perhaps I did yesterday.

When did it become standard practice to slob it down for funerals? Shorts? T-shirts? "Do you own a razor, there Chumley?"

As I walked into the 100 degree venue a random T-shirt commented with sarcasm,  "you look good."

I wanted to tell him to piss off and take a shower but there were a few elderly ladies in the area who would not have appreciated my venom, so I replied,

"Overdressed and under qualified, The story of my life."

I bit my tongue so hard I needed stitches.


Being tall gives me the opportunity to rubberneck the funeral crowd during standing hymns, prayers, and silent moments.

What I have noticed recently is that I'm not the only one who's hair has turned grey "since the last time I saw you."

I won't say that the passage of time is the great enemy.  It's the natural driver, start to finish, for those lucky enough to get this far.

What is the great enemy is confusion. Seeing faces you should know, but can't quite place. Wrinkled, grey, "look at the eyes", and coming away with no idea.

Covid changed the way I socialized.

And a person needs to be with people to be unaware of the changes.

When you are away from people reality can be shocking.

For all parties involved,

"Your hair wasn't grey last time I saw you."

Welcome to your life.

All of us.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

SERMON FROM THE DECK (The Christmas Story Version)

 Santa answered my call last night. It took a while to get past his tough receptionist, but eventually the big guy came on the line, I believe to placate and get rid of me.  We talked about memories of Christmas past. He reminded me that I asked for the Coleco Electric Football and that it wasn't his fault that it sucked. "You were supposed to be able to program the players by adjusting the fins on the bottom, but they just ran around in circles. And the kickers, the kickers, they both were broken by the second day."  He told me that he hoped my greed begat a lesson that was taught with crappy, broken things.   I reminded him that there has been no action on my later requests. World peace. Eliminated famine. Brotherhood and sisterhood. The age of Aquarius fulfilled.  He drew a deep breath, sighed a huge sigh, and then admitted that the power to have these oh so precious gifts does not come from a magical, imaginary elf in red, but is inside every one of us, jus...
Post a Comment
Read more

March Crush

 You are a 15 year old male. Your hormones are raging, surging, "turn me loose!" Your only outlet is frustration. "I bet you're still a virgin!" "No I'm not." "When? Who" You make up a lie that flatters no one.     A Goddess lives three doors down. A woman who fills your dreams with scenes of life and lust that you have only experienced in crumpled, hidden magazines. She is recently divorced. With children at home, except on weekends when they are housed at their fathers, two towns away. You notice she returns your glance before you can turn your embarrassed stare away. She gives you a sly smile. "Oh God, she knows." One day, at a gathering at the school, she comes up to you.   "You are sure growing. I could use such a strong man to plow my driveway." What does she mean by that? Could she be coming on to me? "Yes Ma'am. I'm available tomorrow after supper." You know tomorrow is Friday, and that her ki...
Post a Comment
Read more

Modern Funerals And The Lost Art Of Avoidance

 I hate funerals. Of course there is nothing to love about them, although I remember a couple of English War Bride Aunts who enjoyed them as a social event. They showed up everywhere, for the show, the chinwag, and probably the free lunch. Myself, I avoid the services at all costs. There are, of course, reasons to go, and funerals that can't be avoided. The last two I attended were non-religious events, that served beer. How could I refuse. And of course there are family events that one is obligated to attend, even if it's to quickly sign the register, and then hide in the basement, as far away from the proceedings as possible. I have been a pall bearer twice. They were amongst the most uncomfortable times in my life. I have also ushered a few times. I sucked at it. How could I ever recommend a good seat when my body and soul wants to crawl into my church basement hidey hole. Part of my avoidance of funerals is something I have mentioned to people in person and on social media ...
Post a Comment
Read more