I don't think I'll ever understand the fascination old folks have about funerals. Grandma never misses a good funeral. She is one of the first ones there for the viewing. She is first in line for the cookies and coffee. She's in the middle of it all.
I feel like I'm living in a Janet Evanovich book. I've got my very own Grandma Mazur. Grandma Mazur is a feisty, outrageous, gun-toting widow who lives for funerals. She schedules her day around funeral visitations and the beauty shop. Sound familiar?
Every week we get an update on who's died back home.
This week it's Mr. B, a popular guy. The services are going to be held a small quaint church with a huge cemetery behind it. You know the kind you see driving down the highway with a hurricane fence around the white wood framed building with a small steeple on top and a gravel parking lot? Rural Texas.
Grandma's worried. She's worried there will not be enough seats for everyone attending the services this afternoon. There's going to be a crowd. SO...she's planning on getting there an HOUR early so she can have a good seat. Mind you, there's only 1,100 people in this town on a sunny Saturday. This isn't Houston where you have to fight traffic to get there and then fight traffic in the parking lot. This is BFE, Texas! No stop lights. The only traffic jam is when Old Mrs. Plumbego's prized rooster crosses the road. But grandma will be there in her Sunday best...before the family gets there...an hour before the services begin.
I'm going to start calling her Grandma Mazur! She's probably got a pistol in her purse, too! (Remind me to check next time I see her.)
The one nice thing about a country funeral is the respect everyone still shows. Cars on the road still pull over while the procession drives by. And everyone will turn their headlights on as they drive the 100 yards to cemetery.
...with Grandma Mazur leading the way.
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