Funerals and such like!

I had the privilege of attending a very beautiful funeral service yesterday.  Gentle and dignified.  Beautiful violin music, and befitting tributes to what appeared to be a remarkable woman.  What caught my attention was a collage of many pictures of her from babyhood, through school and into courtship, motherhood and beyond,which were being played out on projector screens at various points in the church. What really captivated me, was the amazing smile on her face.  Hardly a picture being flashed on the screen was devoid of this beaming, sunshine smile.  I can imagine that she was a person who lived life to the full, and met any adversity head on. I salute her!

I went to a funeral once held at Doves Funeral Parlour.  It happened like this.  I was asked by my doctor friend to do a spot of visiting at one of the many Retirement villages.  I poked my head around a couple of doors before I eventually decided to visit an elderly one legged lady.  Mrs K and I didn't have an awful lot to talk about, but I faithfully carried out this duty for some years.  One of the things I did manage to do for her, was to enable her to walk off with first prize in the Fancy Dress competition, two years running.  The first time I dressed her up as a giant pea-pod, encasing her in green crepe paper, and somehow attaching green balloons down her front. The second time I dressed her up as a mermaid.  Being one-legged, it was a piece of cake.  I wrapped a roll of heavy tinfoil around the bottom part of her body, ending off with a nice big tail.  Long strands of bright yellow wool, stitched together into a sort of wig, completed the getup.

It appeared that she had no relatives, or if she did, they had long been written off, or had long written her off, as the case may be, because when she died, it was me who was phoned one morning at 6 am.  The funeral I was told was going to be at 12 noon the following Tuesday.  I duly set off early, so as to be in good time, but was caught up in the most horrendous traffic jam.  Eventually I rushed into the funeral parlour at seven minutes past twelve.  "Is the funeral just starting?" I asked  "No" replied the organist, "we've just finished."  "Did anyone come?"  I asked.  "No, only you, but it was a lovely service."  I walked up to the coffin and ran my hand over the shiny wood. It really worried me that I had been the only mourner, and I had missed it.  The organist sensing my anguish and confusion, walked over to me and said "I ll tell you what, you can take the flowers and give them to the Old Age Home." I picked up the flowers as best I could and transported them to the Home in the back of my car.  Not being able to find anyone to give them to, I artistically draped them across a large stainless steel tea trolley, then I beat a hasty retreat.  I imagine the tea lady took it all in her stride, and having been inundated with many such arrangements prior to this, probably just tipped them, without a second thought, straight into the trash.

Workshops and other playthings!

One of my favorite places to play as a child was in my father's workshop.  It was like Aladdin's  cave.  Bolted onto his main workbench was an enormous vice-grip, and underneath the bench were all sorts of exciting things, including pieces of wood in all shapes and sizes.  There were small block like pieces, which could be turned into make believe cars.  There was many an occasion when my cousin from the next door farm and I would construct roads, and tunnels, and bridges in a large pile of sand, which was going to be used in the building of our new house.  We would drive our "cars" round and round and up and down, and through and over, for hours on end.  I have three boy cousins of the same age and each one in turn were wonderful playmates, all with their own unique way of making games exciting,

In the centre of the workshop was a gigantic Anvil.  It was bolted to a large log, which in turn was embedded into the cement floor.  In the left hand corner was an old Forge, which was used from time to time in either mending or refashioning parts of farm implements.  My father would light a coal fire in the centre of the Forge, and I would be allowed to turn the handle which worked the bellows.  I don't know why I found this to be such an exciting activity, but for me it was thrilling to watch the piece of steel gradually turn bright orange, before being placed on the Anvil and hammered into the required shape.  Most farmers relied on their home grown skills, as money was often in short supply. Welding apparatus and circular saws were stock in trade.

One of the exciting games my father invented to keep me out of his hair, was to give me the task of cleaning the engine of one of the tractors.  He would pour some petrol (gasoline) into a jam tin, and give me an old rag and a small paint brush.  I took this job very seriously, and made sure I brushed the petrol into all the oily nooks and crannies, before wiping them clean with my rag.

My father however, did have this strange idea that you were taught lessons on the job.  If for example you happened to be messing around under his workbench, while he was clamping something into the vice grip, he would accidentally on purpose allow the handle of the vice grip to fall through the hole and hit you on the head.  He would then say "Ahhh, you must take more care and watch what you're doing!" He also had this strange idea that we all had to be toughened up by going through hardships.  My poor misguided father had no conception that resilience and confidence only come about through love, kindness, acceptance and the building up of little people.  It would take me many decades to undo the damage of his strange philosophy.