Funerals bring out the best in some people, the worst in others; we had both. The worst wasn't as bad as it could have been, thankfully. Family dynamics seem to be exaggerated at Times Like These, as you probably know. But we all got through it without having to make arrangements for any more funerals.
I'll leave the worst to your imagination. The best was walking into the church and finding nearly every pew filled with friends who wanted to remember, one last time, a man who meant so much to so many. And the other best was being able to feel the heartache and pain and loss, without a little help from a bottle. 'Nuff said.
A nearby floral shop called three times yesterday [you were wondering when I was going to get around to mentioning a "three" thing, weren't you?] – twice at my home and once at my mother-in-law's, where they finally were able to reach me. They needed directions to my house to make a delivery. I couldn't imagine who would be sending me flowers, and the thought crossed my mind that somehow there was a mix-up and they should have been delivered to the church.
Shortly after I got home my alarm system started barking as the delivery van pulled into the driveway. Floral delivery people must have the second-best job in the world, watching as the recipient of an arrangement smiles with delight upon discovering who would be so thoughtful. [The best job in the world is delivering your dogs to you when you've left them at
My thoughtful angels were Lori and Grumpy, who wanted to show their support and encouragement for the race. How did they know that I rarely get flowers delivered? I am so touched! Thank you both.
Thanks, also, to my daughter, who gave me a heads-up about another favorite blogger. Considering how little time I've spent at the computer lately, I'm sure I'm the last to know that Crazy Aunt Purl has some big news. [My Google Reader informs me that I have 51 unread blogs this morning. Can you imagine what that number will be by Sunday, when I get back from Nashville?]
Three days until race day.