Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Lately. A funeral. Wendover. And things.

My mother slept over with my little brother so we could attend a funeral the next morning. During the night my drunken mum tried to talk my boyfriend into marrying me, so we could have children soon. He asked, "why, so we can name it survivor"? His dark sense of humour allows us to deal with not so funny things, in a rather amusing way. I told him I was sorry for her harrassment, where he replied, "it's fine, no baby grubbing grandma is going to scare me away". I laughed. My brother decided at that moment that he likes my boyfriend, because he's funny, and lighthearted about things like we are. Later we all arm wrestled, and I came out the weakest one. Not surprised. However, I was surprised that my uber athletic brother couldn't beat the boyfriend. Although, the boyfriend is a freak of nature, un-natural in almost every way. I'm lucky.

My great-grandmother passed away last week. She was 103. I think that's why I don't feel as bad as I "should". The past year has been full of funerals, my great-grandfather on my mothers mothers side, my great-grandmother from my mother's father's side, and of course my little brother. Every funeral, and death reminds me of my little brother. I have empathy now that I didn't really used to have, I didn't have it before, because I didn't know. This funeral was not heartbreakingingly sad like my brothers, it was actually kind of funny. My great-grandmother's name was Alreda. She was a spit-fire, and from my understanding of her, she was pretty hilarious.

I didn't know her. The funeral, seemed to vicariously improve my relationship with her through the mourning of everyone else. I went to the funeral with my mother, and my little brother Dakota who had never even met Alfreda, because our family isn't close and we don't really talk to anyone outside of our immediate relatives. It was at the Mormon church, because Alfreda was Mormon. Another reason we didn't really know her, we come from her son, that is a jackmormon, and jack ass. Our line, went astray, thank god. The church gave the longest service I have ever attended, two minutes for every year Alfreda was alive...or so it seemed. It started with songs, a prayer, more songs, more prayer, viewing her dead body (which of course didn't actually look like her...they never do), then into a different room for more prayer, more singing by one family of amazing voice talent, yet hideous physical genes, and then stories from people who sometimes knew her well, and others times were clearly faking it for reasons I can never figure out as some people at funerals do. Some people like to know someone who has died. Death gives celebrity status, because it makes that person ultimately unattainable. Like Tom Cruise.

During the funeral one particular man stood out who had an exceptional life force. He was elderly, all smiles, and big beaming eyes. He spoke very fondly of Alfreda, telling stories of her. One such story he told went something like this:

When Alreda was in her seventies she went to Mexico with one of her sons. On the way back, while crossing the border a gaurd asked old Alfreda what she had in her basket, where she answered very seriously, "Pot". After an hour of inspecting the car and finding no contraban they let her and her family go. Everyone had a good laugh afterwards.

I should have visited more. She was clearly a good time.

Another story they told went something like this:
Alreda liked games. It was a favorite game of hers to uproot plants her neibhors had planted in her garden, and move them. Then watch them through the window as they would come over in the evening to check on their plants. She never said anything to them, she didn't mind they were using her garden, but she took great fun in teasing them in her own way.

That is something I should start doing. Funerals, are a great way to get to know people, and steal their tricks.

After the funeral my grandpa Gordon make his weird sex jokes like usual, talking about how he can't get it up anymore and how much he loves fudge popscicles. He eats a box per day. He really loves them. Grandpa cried while talking about his sexual deprivaty, and his beloved fudge. He misses his mom, Alfreda. My brother and I stood around in the church lobby uncomfortably while everyone stared at us for chugging our starbucks beverages. Mormons don't drink coffee, and I'm convinced they were jealous of my coffee as I was jealous that they get to wear fire proof underwear. My genitalia will go unprotected if my apartment should burst into flames.

My mother cried. She didn't know my grandma Alfreda really either, the event reminded her of her son. She misses Mitch. We all miss Mitch. Grandma Alfreda has nothing in common with Mitch, the only commonality they share, is death. "Maybe grandma will take care of him now" mom said. I smiled and nodded. I don't know if I believe that, but it can't hurt.

We left after standing around and pretending like we cared about everyones small talk. My family has no social skills, we cannot "small talk". The three of us smiled and shook hands, while making a slow exit. One shake, one step towards the door. As we left a man on the right of us had a seventies pomp, sideburns, and was wearing a black suit with a sharp white popped collar. Elvis, came to my grandmothers funeral. Clearly, she has reached celebrity status.


After the funeral my mother and I dropped off Dakota and headed to Wendover. We drank soda and gambled with my aunt Jackie and uncle Joe. I admire their relationship. They are really in love, and it's the only real "love, love" I've ever witnessed. It's....unreal and adorable. My aunt jackie was wasted drunk, stumbling a bit and slurring, telling me she wanted me to have a baby. Everyone wants me to have a baby now that I've gotten rid of one. Very odd. My mother and I sat side by side giving our money away on the basis of hope, the belief in fate. Everyone in that casino was secretly trying to convince some higher power that they deserved to win money more than everyone else. I watched my mother rub the machine and say things like, "come on baby" as though she was trying to coax a virgin into finding her worthy of being "the first".

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