Feb. 14th, 2005 05:15 pm
katallison: (Default)
So, my dad's funeral is over, and it all went very well. In particular, my brother, whom I was ready to throttle Friday night for his non-phone-answering non-arrangements-clarifying ways, delivered a eulogy that just knocked the ball out of the park. He was *splendid.* And some of my dad's old professional colleagues were able to show up, to my great joy, and said some funny and loving and intelligent things. The only downside was ... well, let me just say that if you're ever engaging a singer to perform at some event, be sure to verify in advance that he is actually able to carry a tune, and perhaps also play chords upon the guitar that correspond more or less harmonically to the tune he is supposed to be carrying. (Right, you already know that, on account of you're smarter than me.) Anyway, it was a fine ceremony, overall, and I think my dad would have been pleased.

And I got my grant proposals done and in, and I'm now sitting here, contemplating rather dazedly the prospect of an evening in which there is nothing I have to do. And even more, no niggling painful guilt about how if you don't have other things you have to do, you really should go visit your dad or your stepmother. No, my calendar and my conscience are entirely, utterly clear, for the first time in what feels like forever. Mr. P. and I are not doing the V-Day thing tonight, but have deferred until later in the week, when the crowds will have dwindled and the restaurant prices will be back to normal and I'll have gotten some sleep.

I went out after work and bought myself a stack of Nero Wolfe mysteries, and a bottle of champagne, and I plan to have a quiet solitary evening on the couch, sipping and reading and having a little hot chicken soup. The bronchitis is much better (huge thanks to [livejournal.com profile] lapillus, who brought over on Saturday a bottle of Mucinex tabs, which is vilely named but does a fantastic job of de-gunking the lungs). I'm looking forward to Escapade, and I'm looking back, from time to time, at the past few weeks, and I'm thinking a bit about some writing I want to get re-immersed in. But mostly I'm just going to be quiet and enjoy my evening.


Feb. 11th, 2005 08:42 pm
katallison: (Default)
Dear Everyone: You want to do something nice for your family? Something really nice and sweet and helpful? Well, here's my suggestion: Even if you feel that death is far, far from you (and I most devoutly hope it is), still and all, take some time to think through, write down, and give to someone trustworthy a document outlining:
--what kind of a funeral you would like to have;
--stuff you might like to have read, chanted, printed up and handed out, or enacted by means of interpretive dance at said funeral;
--the music you would like to have played (bonus points to those who actually burn a CD containing this music, so that your survivors are not left haplessly wrestling with both their grief and recalcitrant computer technology);
--who should be notified of this event (bonus points if you include some means of contacting them, or at least a general indication of what part of the globe they might be inhabiting);
--who should act as emcee, chief officiant, or general wrangler for this event (bonus points if it is someone mentally organized who actually answers his or her *phone* once in a while).
Whom the gods would destroy, they first put in charge of organizing a funeral for someone who neglected all of the above. )
katallison: (Default)
Home from my stepmother's funeral. About which I will only say, when I die, put me in a cardboard box, cremate me, toss a party where the beer flows like wine, and please please please do not have some minister give an ungrammatical and Jesus-laden eulogy which demonstrates that he never *met* me in my frickin' life. Amen.

Well, I'll add that I diverted myself by observing the vast behavioral divide between my stepsiblings (a warm, emotionally-bonding, expressive, huggy bunch) and me&brothers (poker-faced, uncomfortable-looking, given to standing around with hands in pockets, conversing quietly about comparative funeral rituals of various cultures and edging surreptitiously toward the exits). I love my stepsiblings, truly I do--they are the warm yeasty bread of humanity, they give and they bond and they connect and nurture. But I am glad I am not *of* them.

Also, a thought on pantyhose. It is brought home to me that there are women in the world--plenty of them, in fact--who wear pantyhose every frickin' workday of their lives. Which is just ... I can't even encompass it. After four hours I was ready to rip the damn things off with my *teeth.* It's like the last time I went bra-shopping (oh, man, I have a whole rant on that topic) and realized that:
(a) about 95% of all bras on the market are underwire, which means that
(b) at any moment, about 95% of the female population are wearing underwire bras.

All of which leads me to marvel yet again that women do *not*, in fact, make up the lion's share of mass, spree, or serial killers. As Fraser notes in Speranza's A Dare's a Dare (a.k.a. The Drag Story):

Instantly Fraser was tugging the dress up, over his head, and then he was pulling the bra off over his shoulders and shoving the tattered pantyhose down his legs and tugging off the low-heeled shoes. "Horrible," Fraser said with a small shudder. "I don't know how women stand it." Naked now, Fraser scratched first at his arms and then at his chest--there was a faint red line there where his bra had been. "They must have depths of strength about which we men know nothing.". Indeed.
katallison: (giles fresh hell)
So. Got a call this morning from brother #1, about the dead car sitting in my garage. (For those who have been following the Kat dead car saga over many years, this is actually dead car #2, d.c. #1 finally having gotten towed to the junkyard earlier this year.)

Brother #1 is actually the titular owner of dead car #2--he gave it to me a bunch of years ago when dead car #1 originally died, but we never quite managed to get the title transfer accomplished, on account of the original title got lost, and the replacement title got held up because sister-in-law's name was different on the title than it is on the registration, and blah blah insanity, and the whole thing went in the mental box of "Stuff With Which I Cannot Presently Deal."

Anyway, he was calling to say "If you're not using dead car #2, how about we hand it off to brother #2, who is broke, unemployed, and without a vehicle of any kind?" To which I said "Halleluljah!!! If he's willing to get that thing out of my garage so I can actually use the garage for the *live* car, and also handle the title snafu which has made me insane, I will for my part continue paying the insurance for him until such time as he is again employed!"

The only downside in this heartwarming saga of familial automotive mutual aid would be the fact that it is currently five below zero outside, and Ye Bros. are proposing to show up in an hour or so to get going on this. I said, "Uh, I can tell you right now that NO WAY is that thing going to start. And since it's in the garage, we'll have to push it out into the alley to even be able to jump it. And it's COLD out there." To which my brother is all, "Hey, no problem, we can handle this!"

And I hope they can, but I just wish they'd handle it tomorrow when it's supposed to actually get above freezing. And also, when I'm not running against a midnight deadline trying to finish a story. Gronk.

(ETA: Score! They have listened to sweet sweet reason, and will be coming over tomorrow instead. When we could have freezing rain, but whatever. So, back to the damnable story...)


katallison: (Default)

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