Wednesday, May 30, 2007
SKIPPING THROUGH THE GRAVEYARDS
This past Monday was Memorial Day. And since my dad WAS in the Army -- he was in training camp when WWII ended, and wound up spending a couple of years in Japan cleaning up the mess (with his tongue, uphill, in the blistering sun and in snow drifts six feet high, all at once -- or so he said) -- my mom thought it might be a good idea to go visit his grave. She hadn't been out there in a while and the last time she was there, she wasn't very happy about the condition of the grass.
Long story. She threatened to call the Bishop.
Anyway, my brother Joe rented a limo and the four Tuerff Brothers, their two wives (my Jan and Joe's Carol), one girlfriend (Pat's Cara), my son Brendan and my mom rode to the cemetery from Mom's place in cramped but comfortable style.
We cracked jokes. My usually humorless brother Joe was actually the life of the party in the limo, and everybody chatted away.
When we got to the cemetery -- St. Francis, the one that runs alongside the canal off of 48th street, it was obvious that nobody had been to "see Dad" recently, as nobody could remember where his grave was. I had a fair idea where I THOUGHT it was, only to remember that the spot I was thinking of was where another funeral was held on the same day as my dad's.
Joe had the limo driver park where he THOUGHT the grave might be. Then he wandered off into the sunset. We weren't sure if we were ever going to see him again, so brothers Dave and Pat took off looking for him -- and dad.
Now, we had a lot more room in the limo. It was kinda nice! I suggested we leave, but Mom suddenly remembered that we probably weren't on the correct side of the cemetery. She had the limo driver head east, to the east-most-entrance. Turning in there, we found the Tuerff search party still wandering about. Mom had the limo driver pull over.
We all got out and started wandering around reading headstones. We were scattered in about a million directions when suddenly someone, either Carol or Brendan or Dave (I don't remember) suddenly said, "HERE IT IS!" -- and he was standing not 20 feet in a straight line from the limo door.
Dad thus located, we put some plastic flowers down. Mom mentioned when she finally goes (with her genes this will be after the rest of us have long passed on), she'd be buried on top of dad. Which was apparent, since the headstone had room for one more.
Then, she says, "We also bought the grave next to ours!" She pointed at it proudly.
For what? I thought. A future underground patio? So I asked the only sensible question I could:
"Do we get to flip for it?"
Big laugh, no answers.
The grass was in awful shape.
"That's it," Mom said. "I'm calling the Bishop."
So Joe passed around fake champagne glasses, opened up some fake champagne, we all toasted dad and then Joe, who will never miss the opportunity to read from the Bible and tie totally circumstantial verses from one testament to the other, like this is gonna make anybody convert, read a bunch of boring bible stuff and eventually stopped.
We toasted Dad again and drank more champagne. Brendan said some nice things about his Grandpa and we drank some more.
Then we got in the limo and headed off to graveyard #2 in Mesa to do the same thing for my sister Kathy, who, while not a veteran, isn't around anymore either.
Picture a similar location dilemma, only loaded on champagne.
Actually, it didn't take us quite as long to find Kathy's grave because Pat had actually been there a couple times. Mom hadn't been there for years, having had some problems coming to grips with it all. (Kathy had leukemia and didn't know it; she was "sick" exactly ONE DAY. Then she died. That's how I wanna go.)
However, we didn't find it right away. Pat told the limo driver "It's right by the statue." Understand of course that a Catholic cemetery has LOTS of statues. I believe the one near Kathy's grave is the statue of St. Jesus the Martyred Third Baseman of Happyville.
Again, we marched all around the vicinity of Kathy, the general area of Kathy, in fact the entire DIOCESE of Kathy before we found her. Her little flower pitcher thingy was broken but I put flowers in it anyway.
Mom threatened to call the Bishop again.
Joe got the cooler, passed out more glasses, more champagne (something not quite so dry this time) was poured, we toasted Kathy, we told a couple of stories, Joe didn't read anything, and I was happy.
Janice had brought pebbles to put on both graves; it's the Jewish version of flowers. Lets people know you were there. My mom was hoping she would have some and Jan came through like a champ!
Anyway, with both parties ceremonially toasted, flowered and pebbled, we got back in the limo and rode back to Mom's. Good thing, too. Champagne in the heat makes me tired and grumpy.
Once back, Joe cooked burgers and we all had a good time. Not a bad way to spend Memorial day after all.
TT
This past Monday was Memorial Day. And since my dad WAS in the Army -- he was in training camp when WWII ended, and wound up spending a couple of years in Japan cleaning up the mess (with his tongue, uphill, in the blistering sun and in snow drifts six feet high, all at once -- or so he said) -- my mom thought it might be a good idea to go visit his grave. She hadn't been out there in a while and the last time she was there, she wasn't very happy about the condition of the grass.
Long story. She threatened to call the Bishop.
Anyway, my brother Joe rented a limo and the four Tuerff Brothers, their two wives (my Jan and Joe's Carol), one girlfriend (Pat's Cara), my son Brendan and my mom rode to the cemetery from Mom's place in cramped but comfortable style.
We cracked jokes. My usually humorless brother Joe was actually the life of the party in the limo, and everybody chatted away.
When we got to the cemetery -- St. Francis, the one that runs alongside the canal off of 48th street, it was obvious that nobody had been to "see Dad" recently, as nobody could remember where his grave was. I had a fair idea where I THOUGHT it was, only to remember that the spot I was thinking of was where another funeral was held on the same day as my dad's.
Joe had the limo driver park where he THOUGHT the grave might be. Then he wandered off into the sunset. We weren't sure if we were ever going to see him again, so brothers Dave and Pat took off looking for him -- and dad.
Now, we had a lot more room in the limo. It was kinda nice! I suggested we leave, but Mom suddenly remembered that we probably weren't on the correct side of the cemetery. She had the limo driver head east, to the east-most-entrance. Turning in there, we found the Tuerff search party still wandering about. Mom had the limo driver pull over.
We all got out and started wandering around reading headstones. We were scattered in about a million directions when suddenly someone, either Carol or Brendan or Dave (I don't remember) suddenly said, "HERE IT IS!" -- and he was standing not 20 feet in a straight line from the limo door.
Dad thus located, we put some plastic flowers down. Mom mentioned when she finally goes (with her genes this will be after the rest of us have long passed on), she'd be buried on top of dad. Which was apparent, since the headstone had room for one more.
Then, she says, "We also bought the grave next to ours!" She pointed at it proudly.
For what? I thought. A future underground patio? So I asked the only sensible question I could:
"Do we get to flip for it?"
Big laugh, no answers.
The grass was in awful shape.
"That's it," Mom said. "I'm calling the Bishop."
So Joe passed around fake champagne glasses, opened up some fake champagne, we all toasted dad and then Joe, who will never miss the opportunity to read from the Bible and tie totally circumstantial verses from one testament to the other, like this is gonna make anybody convert, read a bunch of boring bible stuff and eventually stopped.
We toasted Dad again and drank more champagne. Brendan said some nice things about his Grandpa and we drank some more.
Then we got in the limo and headed off to graveyard #2 in Mesa to do the same thing for my sister Kathy, who, while not a veteran, isn't around anymore either.
Picture a similar location dilemma, only loaded on champagne.
Actually, it didn't take us quite as long to find Kathy's grave because Pat had actually been there a couple times. Mom hadn't been there for years, having had some problems coming to grips with it all. (Kathy had leukemia and didn't know it; she was "sick" exactly ONE DAY. Then she died. That's how I wanna go.)
However, we didn't find it right away. Pat told the limo driver "It's right by the statue." Understand of course that a Catholic cemetery has LOTS of statues. I believe the one near Kathy's grave is the statue of St. Jesus the Martyred Third Baseman of Happyville.
Again, we marched all around the vicinity of Kathy, the general area of Kathy, in fact the entire DIOCESE of Kathy before we found her. Her little flower pitcher thingy was broken but I put flowers in it anyway.
Mom threatened to call the Bishop again.
Joe got the cooler, passed out more glasses, more champagne (something not quite so dry this time) was poured, we toasted Kathy, we told a couple of stories, Joe didn't read anything, and I was happy.
Janice had brought pebbles to put on both graves; it's the Jewish version of flowers. Lets people know you were there. My mom was hoping she would have some and Jan came through like a champ!
Anyway, with both parties ceremonially toasted, flowered and pebbled, we got back in the limo and rode back to Mom's. Good thing, too. Champagne in the heat makes me tired and grumpy.
Once back, Joe cooked burgers and we all had a good time. Not a bad way to spend Memorial day after all.
TT
Comments:
Tom, this is the first time I have seen this. Nice, accurate description of the day.
Post a Comment
# posted by 
: 10:36 PM
: 10:36 PM