The funeral is over. The flowers were beautiful. Many friends came to show their respect to my uncle, and many friends came to show support for Mom.

It was supposed to start at 3:00. We waited, and waited.

A young woman (yes, I had her in class a few years ago. . . . ) came out, with tears in her eyes, and asked Mom to step outside. We all wondered and worried. What in the world?

Mom came back. She seemed stunned. Apparently, the funeral parlor had forgotten to order the vault for the casket; therefore, there would be no burial today. No trip to the cemetary in a long line of flag-tipped vehicles. No handfuls of dirt dropped into a hole. No flowers piled on a casket. No weaving in, among, and around tombstones and mole tunnels. Gee, that was too bad, thought the crowd in unison.

My uncle would still get a military funeral. It was just that the American Legion guys were waiting at the cemetary and would have to rush back to town to the funeral parlor to do their thing. We waited some more.

The eulogies were given. The American Legion guy gave his speech, and handed a folded flag to my uncle’s older brother. (Another of Mom’s younger brothers!) The morticians opened all the doors. We sat and listened to a bunch of veterans marching. We heard some orders shouted. And then the whole neighborhood heard the guns go off in a final military salute. It must have wakened all the babies and scared the neighbors. Dogs began to bark. The only soldier we actually SAW was the one elderly man who presented the flag. Everything else, we only HEARD.

For all we know, it could all have been on a cd, and played through a speaker just outside the open doors.

Doing it all at the funeral parlor was actually a lot easier on the older people; we’re all glad it turned out that way. If someone is bound and determined to have a traditional military funeral, I highly recommend forgetting to order the vault so you don’t all have to haul yourselves down to a cemetary for that last piece of morbidity.

The vault should be delivered within the next two days. They gave Mom a discount on it.

Then we all went back to Mom’s house and relived the whole thing. And then we all went out to eat at a country buffet south of town. And now I’m home again. Jiggety jig.

My computer is back at PowerSource again; same old, same old: demonic possession. Hub’s computer is right smack next to mine, networked to mine, and he never has any problems.

Demonic possession, I’m telling you. What else could it be?

If any of my uncle’s creditors continue to give Mom a bad time over the phone, I’ll start posting their names on this blog. With links.

So back off my mom, stupid mortage company. You really don’t want to deal with the power of the internet.