Ten-Finger Exercises

what the heck is that popdown for?

I had my blog half written on the annoying popdown screen I'm getting "for a quick blog entry" or some such thing. It's practically impossible to get my blog to open from the regular bar at the top of the page now. That is irritating enough, but it somehow popped back up and disappeared mid-blog.

The truncated blog was titled, "Not much ado about anything," but was becoming a rant about the workers who haven't accomplished much around here this week. I won't go back over it. Suffice it to say, what could have been finished within the week will not be.

So far I've had one worker show, or leave an indication that he's been here a few times, but not for long. He left some things on Monday, paint and supplies. Tuesday he sanded a little on two outside wooden doors, a little here, a little there, a little there. (I was at home for part of that; that's how I know his technique.)

Today he arrived with more supplies, and went to back his car around to unload. Why he bothered to back in behind my car (leaving me ample room to get out, which was considerate) rather than back into the empty space closer to the house I can't imagine. So he managed to save himself the length of his car for delivery. Then he didn't have the right thickness of cedar for the repair to the board and batten. So he said he'd paint two inside doors. When I returned from a funeral, he was gone again, and one door was painted, just on the side that faces the hallway.

The funeral, for one of our patients who was just admitted last week (Sigh...that happens far too often!) was interesting. It was held in a church I was curious to see inside of. It's an old church with steep steps in a square sanctuary Methodist style. The ceiling was very high, the walls and ceiling white and bright. The carpet was a few shades darker than a typical pool table cover green, or a banker's eye shade. There were nine windows, three to a side, the middle of each three a combined window three times the size of the singles. All had Gothic arches of dark wood with clear glass panes. The rectangular, lower parts of each were covered with an accordian pleated shade in the same green. The shades may have lowered, but it looked as if their main use was stationary. All in all, a very attractively done room, much more tasteful than I'd expected.

Why would I expect less? Sometimes the "refurbishing committees" are hampered by a lack of funds, well meaning hand-me-downs, and decorating advice that is either more practical or more trendy than liturgical. Often a combination of the above flaws produces a decor that is less than uplifting. This was not. It was inspired.

My only previous connection with this church was that I'd parked in front of it often when I worked at the nearby hospital, and I'd officiated at a funeral service for a man who was a member of that church. His wife requested that the service be at their home. She and one of her daughters were handicapped, and, she said, it was not a church that was at all respectful of women. By that she meant it was extremely fundamental and male dominated. Today's widow, I'm happy for her sake to say, looked very comfortable there.

The man, whom I regret having not met sooner than the day he died, had been a high school English teacher and wrote stories for children. He'd written a few children's books, but mostly was published by Jack and Jill magazine. He had seven sons, and a daughter, and several step children as well. He and his wife had known each other since grade school but had only been married thirteen years, a second marriage for each of them.

Sadly, not many people were there, certainly not seven sons worth. The front pew was filled, probably with family, mostly women. The next to farthest back pew was half full. Otherwise, just a scattering of people were here and there. Maybe because the man who died had been living in a nursing home for the past year, people had forgotten him, lost touch. The pastor said the man had asked him to play chess with him, but he didn't know the game. The man, the "deceased" (isn't that an awful term!) had been the sponsor of a chess team in the high school where he taught, and had competed well with much bigger schools in the state.

I'm not sure why I think the funerals of these people unknown to you and even, sometimes, to me, would interest you in the slightest. Maybe it's to urge you to get to know some of the elders of your communities whose lives have been illuminating and worthwhile. Not "important" people, just ordinary people, who are too easily forgotten. We all hope it won't happen to us. Maybe we can be a light for someone else. (I could have played chess with him and talked about writing.) There are plenty of people out there who would love to stay connected to life while they can, and we would be the wiser for their wisdom and experience.