But it was such a nice funeral.
I hate funerals. yuck.
The positive is that you get to see family.
The mausoleum where they buried him is the same mausoleum where grandmother leaned over to my sister and whispered to her, "This is what money can buy you."
And afterwards there is always a nice sit down meal in the church basement, put on by the church ladies where you get to sit around and yab.
I no longer drink.
The day was gray, there was fog, and on the drive home there was fog until Sturgeon.
We drove back 36 to 63.
We stopped at a convenience-mart in Macon.
It was small. The bathroom walls were so thin you could hear the guy looking for beer, "You don't have Bud lite little lady?"...no..."Then I'll get the Miller light."..and he could've been standing beside me.
I no longer drink. But wish I had been while sitting on the toilet.
And Dylan, who had been sleeping the entire way, bought something to drink (not alcohol, he's seventeen) and when we were back in the car he asked if I had Meatloaf. "You want something to eat?".."No, mom. The band."..and he smiled. so handsome and I laughed like my long dead aunt in her final years in her delirium and pulled the Meatloaf cd from its resting place.
I no longer drink, not that I was ever into it that much.
And we drove, listening to the Bat out of Hell cd (so kosher), and talking, then me singing along, poor dyl.
I no longer drink, and truthfully have no desire, really.
Weddings and funerals. At least I'll participate in one of them.
And when the time comes, cremate me and place the ashes in an old coffee tin and take them to the sea where the wind blows all the time and scatter them.
Then have a drink.