Somber

The other day I had told a story about goofy texts that go back and forth between my sister and I, that was the precursor to this story that I wanted to share. Now that you are familiar with our relationship, somewhat quirky at times and more often than not completely out of context with the rest of society, this nugget will make more sense.

It was a few days after I had broken my dehydrator. Poor me was complaining about the new one that I had gotten that did not work for very ripe fruit or mushrooms because it did not have a temperature control and I would blacken the harvest rather than dry it. My sister had a look-alike version of the dehydrator I broke and sent word that I could use it. I’m not getting away from the farm much with all the firewood production, so my sis said she would bring the dehydrator when we had been planning on being at the same function in a few days. I had a box full of produce, the last of the Asian pears, cabbage and winter apples that I intended to swap for the loan of the dehydrator.

The function happened to be a graveside service, a rather solemn affair. It was a cold day with the wind making things that much colder with a chance of rain, but friends and relatives geared up to make it to the cemetery.

Texts back and forth all week to my sis and I were about the service, notifying far away family that hadn’t heard and more mundane things like if could she use carrots if I dug them from the garden and how many mushrooms would she like. The other part of the messages where about remembering so we wouldn’t forget. I would ask her to remind me about the box of garden goodies  and she asked that I remind her about the dehydrator, we texted time for the service lest one of us would be late. There was a lot of remembering to do.

The evening before the service I sent a quick text saying I only needed the lid (the part with the controls) because I had the base and plenty of trays to the dehydrator. She texted back that it was a good thing I reminded her because she forgot she was going to bring it, she set it out so as not to forget.

The morning of the service I was looking for warm clothes, muted colors to suit the mood but anything with wool and/or waterproofed. I wore a pair of gardening boots to keep my feet dry, they were black with white polka dots. I knew the dearly departed would enjoy the fact that I was comfortable as well as stylish (in the very broadest sense of the word).

I must have gotten to the cemetery before my sister because I didn’t see her car, but I got out and hovered by the trunk because I did not want to forget to give her the box of goodies. I greeted other mourners as they made their way onto the hallowed grounds. When I saw my sis pull into a parking lot, I opened the trunk and pulled out the box. She grabbed the dehydrator lid and we walked toward each other.

The dehydrator lid is a domed Frisbee shaped platter, white in color with a built in handle at the top of the dome. My sis was carrying it in one hand with the electrical cord wound into her hand. One of the bereaved, who knows my sister well, asked why she was carrying a toilet seat to a funeral.

To clarify, the bottom of the domed platter is black while the rest of the lid is white, so as it was being carried and seen from a distance, it did in fact look like it could be a toilet seat. To clarify even further, note that the bereaved asked why, not if. Those who do not know either me or my sister would need to know if it was indeed a toilet seat, those who know us better would not ask if. It would be perfectly normal for one of us to actually bring a toilet seat to a funeral but the question of why would probably still be asked.

On this somber day, as we offered condolences and were given many in return, the laughter we got from the dehydrator lid/toilet seat gave us soothing comfort for our saddened hearts. I’m sure our dear brother would have enjoyed the good chuckle as well. Godspeed Jim.