Mothers day

I was sitting on the left, My uncle the logger in the center and my other uncle the old cowboy on the right in the back of the limousine. Not exactly a new limousine. Nice and clean, I thought as I sat there, but kind of tacky at the same time. It was at my grandmothers funeral and we were three of the pallbearers. I wondered as I sat there in silence how many family members from different families had sat in this old car.

We sat there waiting as people came out of the funeral home, waiting in silence to do our pallbearer duty. It took forever. My uncle the logger sat next to me looking staight ahead with his usual blank expression behind his horn rimmed glasses. My uncle the old cowboy sat tapping his fingers on his fingers on the leg of his brown polyester western pants, thin strands of unusually dark hair combed over and stuck down to his bald head.

I was thinking about all of the times my family had spent a Sunday in this little town about an hour and a half away from our home each time we would visit my grandparents. I remembered the ride home in the car on those Sunday nights in the back seat, fighting for space with my sister and then letting the motion of the car lull me to sleep. I used to get a lot of comfort from the ride home at night in the back seat of the car. My parents would talk in the front sometimes, and sometimes they would be quiet. I loved that time. It was a safe place in the backseat, with the possible exception of a territorial skirmish with my sister now and then.

Now, there I sat as an adult in the back seat of this old limo in that small town. There would be little reason to come back to this town now, and this time I'd be returning home in a Beechcraft Bonanza, with a pilot who only had a day time license. I just wanted to get this whole thing over with and get home safely in that plane. We had encounterd pretty sever turbulence on the way over and I had been nervous about flying with him.

I thought about my grandmother as I sat there. I loved being around her. She was the kind of old lady that yelled everything she said in a high voice, and ran everywhere she went instead of walking, even in her old age. She kind of kept you on edge. Us kids really loved her as she always made us laugh even when she wasn't trying. She always had a smile on her face. She was an old German woman who's family came from the Dakotas. She had a different outlook on life and never learned to drive a car. One time my cousin had painted her a really nice oil painting of a hillside with wildflowers on it. He was a really good artist. My grandmother hung it on the wall and cut out a picture of JFK from an old magazine and taped it right on the oil with scotch tape over the painting. It was typical of the kind of thing about her that made us laugh.

When she died they asked me if I wanted anything. She had this ceramic pot that had a picture of all of the presidents on it. I said I wanted that. I was intrigued with it when I was growing up. Here is a photo of it. JFK is right next to LBJ. It was made in Japan. We couldn't make our own junk even back then. LBJ has a goofy eating grin on his face. Mckinley has kind of stifty eyes. Mckinley reminds me of a guy from highschool that I never trusted. (It's rewarding to click on this and see it bigger)

Then my uncle the logger broke the silence and brought me back into the moment. "When old Mable so and so died,.. It took six of us to tote her out." "Oh the heck." my uncle the cowboy said, a little uncomfortable with the comment. I was thinking, I can't believe he just said that. Doesn't it usually take six people I thought? "Yuuup... She must have wieghed purty near 200 pounds". my uncle the logger said. "The heck." my uncle the cowboy said in an even shorter tone.

My grandmother probably only weighed 120. I wasn't too worried about toting her out.

Old ladies are like wildflowers I thought. They don't last long so you have to enjoy them while you can. And there's always a reason to laugh.