I've been absent for 6 months from the blog. Even by my standards, that's poor. During that time I've had lots of ideas for posts, but the problem has been one of timing. In the period since my last post in May, I've conducted nearly 80 funerals. This site has felt very much a luxury.
However, there is new competition nearby, as well as talk of training another humanist, so the numbers may reduce a little.
I will try to post something interesting when events dictate and time allows.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Sunday, 27 May 2012
You know you're dealing with an "interesting" family when.....
.... you take another phone call delaying something that you asked for several days ago. You sigh after the call has finished, and your beloved doesn't ask "when's the ceremony?" - he asks "when do you get rid of this one?"
On another note, I thought this time of year was meant to be quiet? It's been mental around here!
On another note, I thought this time of year was meant to be quiet? It's been mental around here!
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
Handbags and standards
Every now and again, there is a standard bearer at a ceremony that I conduct. I live in a place that folks retire to and many of my families are seeing off someone with war experience.
Recently, however, there were two standard bearers, thanks to the gent's military history.
I have got to know one of the chaps, Bert, pretty well. He likes to know the intricate detail of the ceremony, so that he knows when to do his part and I'm happy to go through this with him. The other chap, Ted, I hadn't met, but he seemed a charming gentleman who was much more relaxed, happy for me to just give him the nod etc. Watching the two together, however, was very amusing.
Bert spent a good five minutes telling Ted what he normally does (as in "this is what we're going to do"). Ted, being laid back, took it all on board and went along with it, but not without the raising of eyebrows and sly little smiles at me. It started to get a bit catty ("Can I have a chair?" - "A chair? I always stand!") and I found them each lovely in their way, but very funny when together.
Of course, both gents knew what they were doing, were very respectful of why they were there and performed their solemn task with all of the dignity and decorum that was requred.
But as they stood there, either side of the crem facing each other, standards raised, I couldn't help but think to myself that if the standards had been light sabres, we'd all be dead.
Recently, however, there were two standard bearers, thanks to the gent's military history.
I have got to know one of the chaps, Bert, pretty well. He likes to know the intricate detail of the ceremony, so that he knows when to do his part and I'm happy to go through this with him. The other chap, Ted, I hadn't met, but he seemed a charming gentleman who was much more relaxed, happy for me to just give him the nod etc. Watching the two together, however, was very amusing.
Bert spent a good five minutes telling Ted what he normally does (as in "this is what we're going to do"). Ted, being laid back, took it all on board and went along with it, but not without the raising of eyebrows and sly little smiles at me. It started to get a bit catty ("Can I have a chair?" - "A chair? I always stand!") and I found them each lovely in their way, but very funny when together.
Of course, both gents knew what they were doing, were very respectful of why they were there and performed their solemn task with all of the dignity and decorum that was requred.
But as they stood there, either side of the crem facing each other, standards raised, I couldn't help but think to myself that if the standards had been light sabres, we'd all be dead.
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Small last minute changes
They were very clear what they wanted.
Time to say goodbye (a popular choice) as the curtains closed.
So I had it all planned - ask everyone to stand, press the button for the music. Read the committal words over the strings at the beginning, practiced and timed like the DJ I once dreamed of being, let the Italian begin and then hit the button for the curtains just as Ms Brightman starts with the chorus.
It was ready.
I was slick.
The FD shook my hand just before the service and said "Oh, slight change of plan. We're keeping the curtains open".
I smiled and said "okay, fine" - what else could I do?
Still read the words over the intro, though - save the poor congregation standing for too long.
Time to say goodbye (a popular choice) as the curtains closed.
So I had it all planned - ask everyone to stand, press the button for the music. Read the committal words over the strings at the beginning, practiced and timed like the DJ I once dreamed of being, let the Italian begin and then hit the button for the curtains just as Ms Brightman starts with the chorus.
It was ready.
I was slick.
The FD shook my hand just before the service and said "Oh, slight change of plan. We're keeping the curtains open".
I smiled and said "okay, fine" - what else could I do?
Still read the words over the intro, though - save the poor congregation standing for too long.
Thursday, 1 March 2012
We have ways of making you talk....
Other people's perceptions of us are always odd, aren't they?
If you were to ask me the sort of ceremonies that I thought FDs would select me for, I would say the ones where the deceased was a "loveable rogue" and there was a lot of laughter at the arrangement visit. I can often find the humour in things, have a pathological need to lighten the mood and can deliver a story with acceptable comic timing, so these seem the most natural fit.
Imagine my surprise the other day, therefore, when I had a call from an arranger. The gent who had died had been the reclusive sort. He'd never married or had children. Didn't travel, did the same job for many decades; he'd worked hard but without ambition. He had great no passions or hobbies, had lived quietly, on the fringes of his family and, for the last few years, had suffered from dementia. But, of course, the family wanted to pay tribute to him; his life had been long and they felt that he deserved a good send off.
So I was called because, it seems, I'm "good at finding out stuff". Now, Mr X.Piry interpreted this phrase as "nosey" and agreed heartily (harsh but fair), but I was surprised. Yes, I do ask lots of questions, and my favourite one is "why" ("so why did they move there, then?", "why did he particularly like non-fiction", "why did he mean so much to you?") but I had a vision for a moment of me, sitting with the family, shining a light in their eyes and forcing them to tell me the name of their uncle's pet dog!
As it turns out, we had a nice friendly chat, I found out a bit about the man (general interests, how he interacted with the family etc) and agreed with the good folks that it probably wouldn't be a terribly long ceremony (I think we were 20 mins in total). They were happy with this and, after the ceremony, were complimentary, saying that line which always means a lot - "He would have loved that".
Of course, each funeral is individual, but this one was relatively safe, calm and nothing out of the ordinary happened. But it has got me wondering about how I'm viewed and, more to the point, is this a good thing? Does it mean that there's more than one string to my bow? Or am I simply the smiling interrogator?
If you were to ask me the sort of ceremonies that I thought FDs would select me for, I would say the ones where the deceased was a "loveable rogue" and there was a lot of laughter at the arrangement visit. I can often find the humour in things, have a pathological need to lighten the mood and can deliver a story with acceptable comic timing, so these seem the most natural fit.
Imagine my surprise the other day, therefore, when I had a call from an arranger. The gent who had died had been the reclusive sort. He'd never married or had children. Didn't travel, did the same job for many decades; he'd worked hard but without ambition. He had great no passions or hobbies, had lived quietly, on the fringes of his family and, for the last few years, had suffered from dementia. But, of course, the family wanted to pay tribute to him; his life had been long and they felt that he deserved a good send off.
So I was called because, it seems, I'm "good at finding out stuff". Now, Mr X.Piry interpreted this phrase as "nosey" and agreed heartily (harsh but fair), but I was surprised. Yes, I do ask lots of questions, and my favourite one is "why" ("so why did they move there, then?", "why did he particularly like non-fiction", "why did he mean so much to you?") but I had a vision for a moment of me, sitting with the family, shining a light in their eyes and forcing them to tell me the name of their uncle's pet dog!
As it turns out, we had a nice friendly chat, I found out a bit about the man (general interests, how he interacted with the family etc) and agreed with the good folks that it probably wouldn't be a terribly long ceremony (I think we were 20 mins in total). They were happy with this and, after the ceremony, were complimentary, saying that line which always means a lot - "He would have loved that".
Of course, each funeral is individual, but this one was relatively safe, calm and nothing out of the ordinary happened. But it has got me wondering about how I'm viewed and, more to the point, is this a good thing? Does it mean that there's more than one string to my bow? Or am I simply the smiling interrogator?
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Silly little mistakes
Nothing major has happened, but when we're in a business where we really want to get it right, the small silly mistakes can seem big.
The first one? Everyone is standing up as we process in. The coffin is placed on the catafalque and as I start to fade the music I say in a commanding but kindly voice "Will you please stand....sorry....sit down."
To be honest, it turned into a good ice-breaker (I may use it again!), and it was a family that found it funny. I got away with it.
The second one, I felt even more daft about. The family is spread all over the globe, and so I offered to record the ceremony on a small dictaphone. I do this occasionally, explaining clearly that it is not professional quality, but it can be better, for those far away, than simply reading the words.
Of course, this only works when you remember to turn the damned machine on! As I walked out of the chapel, after the ceremony, I remembered. Naturally, I told the family that there had been a problem with the recording (details neither useful nor necessary at this stage) and offered to record it later. I got home, sat in my office and read the thing again, downloading and playing the music at the appropriate times. It was the best I could do, but not the same.
So, why these silly mistakes? Am I just getting a bit weary? Either way, it's a week before my next ceremony - I can't help but think that that's probably a good thing.
Love and peace to all.
The first one? Everyone is standing up as we process in. The coffin is placed on the catafalque and as I start to fade the music I say in a commanding but kindly voice "Will you please stand....sorry....sit down."
To be honest, it turned into a good ice-breaker (I may use it again!), and it was a family that found it funny. I got away with it.
The second one, I felt even more daft about. The family is spread all over the globe, and so I offered to record the ceremony on a small dictaphone. I do this occasionally, explaining clearly that it is not professional quality, but it can be better, for those far away, than simply reading the words.
Of course, this only works when you remember to turn the damned machine on! As I walked out of the chapel, after the ceremony, I remembered. Naturally, I told the family that there had been a problem with the recording (details neither useful nor necessary at this stage) and offered to record it later. I got home, sat in my office and read the thing again, downloading and playing the music at the appropriate times. It was the best I could do, but not the same.
So, why these silly mistakes? Am I just getting a bit weary? Either way, it's a week before my next ceremony - I can't help but think that that's probably a good thing.
Love and peace to all.
Monday, 6 February 2012
It's never what you think it will be...
In the last week, I have met two sets of parents, to put together the funeral of their children. One is an adult child, the other, a little girl who had been poorly since birth.
The striking thing about these meetings (both deaths were unexpected, despite difficult histories) was how incredibly calm the parents were. By contrast, I met a stereotypical "little old lady" the week before who had lost her husband of sixty years and was giving off vibes of fear at the dark future without him that was opening up before her.
I had been dreading the meeting with the younger family, worrying about how they would be; could I cope with their emotions and still be professional? As it turned out, it was one of the most uplifting meetings that I've had - they gained so much from their experience with their daughter, whom they absolutely adored, that they feel, amid the sadness, gratitude and privilege.
The parents of the adult child have also developed coping strategies, which involve a great deal of communication, particularly with their other children, and being able to rely on the support of good friends.
I remember, long ago, being surprised at how low I felt after the funeral of a 102 year old, and how uplifted after a 45 year old. I suppose this is the same again.
A colleague of mine, when she pulls up at the family's house, thinks to herself "I wonder what I'll find in here?" I guess that's one of the pleasures of the job - we never know until we get there and trying to pre-guess is not worth the bothering with.
Long may it continue.
The striking thing about these meetings (both deaths were unexpected, despite difficult histories) was how incredibly calm the parents were. By contrast, I met a stereotypical "little old lady" the week before who had lost her husband of sixty years and was giving off vibes of fear at the dark future without him that was opening up before her.
I had been dreading the meeting with the younger family, worrying about how they would be; could I cope with their emotions and still be professional? As it turned out, it was one of the most uplifting meetings that I've had - they gained so much from their experience with their daughter, whom they absolutely adored, that they feel, amid the sadness, gratitude and privilege.
The parents of the adult child have also developed coping strategies, which involve a great deal of communication, particularly with their other children, and being able to rely on the support of good friends.
I remember, long ago, being surprised at how low I felt after the funeral of a 102 year old, and how uplifted after a 45 year old. I suppose this is the same again.
A colleague of mine, when she pulls up at the family's house, thinks to herself "I wonder what I'll find in here?" I guess that's one of the pleasures of the job - we never know until we get there and trying to pre-guess is not worth the bothering with.
Long may it continue.
Friday, 27 January 2012
When funerals become like French homework
I'm currently taking a little break from writing a funeral. In the name of research, you understand, I'm listening to the music that we'll be playing.
This funeral is for the second member of a family that I've had the honour of dealing with. A few months ago, I conducting a ceremony for a gent. His sister liked the funeral and so I have been selected to do the honours, now that she has died.
In many ways, this is very gratifying - you know you're doing the right thing, if they ask for you again.
Or do you? Is it just familiarity and therefore easy?
Having met the lady's husband, he just wants me to do pretty much the same funeral again; same music, same format.
But do I use the same words? As we give our folks a copy of the words after the ceremony, I want it to be close in tone and concept, but not identical, to emphasise the difference between brother and sister and the creation from scratch of each ceremony. I'm not sure if this is about professional standards, writing something unique for the customer, or my ego, but whatever the motive, the end result is the same.
I am sitting here (the Bach's finished, so I'll get back to the writing in a minute), trying to find new words for the same ideas. As time has passed since the first ceremony, I like to think that I am a little better now and have a slightly stronger phrase here and there.
But, as discussed before, the concepts are the same (the cycle of nature really hasn't changed that much in the last few months).
This is why it's like French homework; I have the actual words and I'm trying to paraphrase them into something better.
Suddenly I feel thirteen again, trying desperately to find a new, innovative (and not the same as Janice Schofield's) way of translating "Ah, voila Jean-Paul, a l'entree du jardin publique....."
Bon chance, mes amis
This funeral is for the second member of a family that I've had the honour of dealing with. A few months ago, I conducting a ceremony for a gent. His sister liked the funeral and so I have been selected to do the honours, now that she has died.
In many ways, this is very gratifying - you know you're doing the right thing, if they ask for you again.
Or do you? Is it just familiarity and therefore easy?
Having met the lady's husband, he just wants me to do pretty much the same funeral again; same music, same format.
But do I use the same words? As we give our folks a copy of the words after the ceremony, I want it to be close in tone and concept, but not identical, to emphasise the difference between brother and sister and the creation from scratch of each ceremony. I'm not sure if this is about professional standards, writing something unique for the customer, or my ego, but whatever the motive, the end result is the same.
I am sitting here (the Bach's finished, so I'll get back to the writing in a minute), trying to find new words for the same ideas. As time has passed since the first ceremony, I like to think that I am a little better now and have a slightly stronger phrase here and there.
But, as discussed before, the concepts are the same (the cycle of nature really hasn't changed that much in the last few months).
This is why it's like French homework; I have the actual words and I'm trying to paraphrase them into something better.
Suddenly I feel thirteen again, trying desperately to find a new, innovative (and not the same as Janice Schofield's) way of translating "Ah, voila Jean-Paul, a l'entree du jardin publique....."
Bon chance, mes amis
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
It seems that I'm more provincial than I hoped.
This feels a bit confessional.....
I grew up in a village which had a paper mill and a psychiatric hospital. This has given me a fairly relaxed attitude to mental health and a love of stationery. But not much else.
(The village also had five pubs and three social clubs but, thankfully, I didn’t grow up with a drink problem).
Much as I try to be PC, open-minded and terribly right-on, old prejudices are still in my brain. Take a recent ceremony. My “bit” was followed by a semi-druid ceremony (I’m calling it “semi”, because, as far as I could tell, none of the people were actual druid priests and the folks seemed to have quite a mix of beliefs and ideas, rather than being committed to one particular approach – I think that’s what was getting to me, as much as anything).
It is, perhaps, unusual to have this with a humanist ceremony. Again, it was all a bit of a mish-mash; the deceased had been raised within a faith, but moved away from it. I think I was chosen as somewhere near “neutral” – a blank canvas, if you will, and also because the FD (correctly) guessed that although I wouldn’t lead anything pagan/new age/“alternative”, I wouldn’t object to it either. The friends of the deceased were also a mixed bunch who had developed their own belief systems, taking bits here and there.
I genuinely and truly respect all of this.
But I still wanted to laugh at the first sight of a robe.
Especially when the man wearing it was talking on a mobile and carrying all of his stuff in a Tesco’s bag (although I was pleased to see that it was a “bag for life”).
Was this nervousness on my part? Hysteria caused by the unfamiliarity of it all? Or am I just a bit of a pleb?
There were bits of the ceremony that I liked very much – the sharing of bread and wine (mmm – sound familiar?), with the wish that those present would never be hungry or thirsty. But some of it, calling on spirits, gods and goddesses just wasn’t my cup of English Breakfast.
Of course, as with all ceremonies, my opinions are unimportant; I am there for facilitate which, I hope I did, paying a tribute to the deceased before handing over to the family members who wanted this variation on a ritual. Had there been anything that I was really unhappy about, I would have tactfully suggested that another person might be better at leading their ceremony.
And, of course, all things are relative. There were two pieces of music played. One was a track from the eighties that I knew well, but was considered experimental in its day. The other was a more modern chant, which I thought was just a bit weird and tree-hugging. I played them both to someone younger than me – she thought the chant was fine, but didn’t like the eighties thing – thought it was a bit weird and tree-hugging.....
Perhaps (as many times in life) the music that has taught me the lesson - things are only weird to those experiencing them for the first time. When they are familiar, they become part of our normal.
Ultimately, the family and friends had the ceremony that they wanted; a tribute, time for prayer and their ritual and that’s all that matters.
For me? It was an interesting experience to observe, and taught me a little about myself. Mainly, I learnt that although it’s not big or clever, robes make me smile.
I am a woman with many hidden shallows.
I grew up in a village which had a paper mill and a psychiatric hospital. This has given me a fairly relaxed attitude to mental health and a love of stationery. But not much else.
(The village also had five pubs and three social clubs but, thankfully, I didn’t grow up with a drink problem).
Much as I try to be PC, open-minded and terribly right-on, old prejudices are still in my brain. Take a recent ceremony. My “bit” was followed by a semi-druid ceremony (I’m calling it “semi”, because, as far as I could tell, none of the people were actual druid priests and the folks seemed to have quite a mix of beliefs and ideas, rather than being committed to one particular approach – I think that’s what was getting to me, as much as anything).
It is, perhaps, unusual to have this with a humanist ceremony. Again, it was all a bit of a mish-mash; the deceased had been raised within a faith, but moved away from it. I think I was chosen as somewhere near “neutral” – a blank canvas, if you will, and also because the FD (correctly) guessed that although I wouldn’t lead anything pagan/new age/“alternative”, I wouldn’t object to it either. The friends of the deceased were also a mixed bunch who had developed their own belief systems, taking bits here and there.
I genuinely and truly respect all of this.
But I still wanted to laugh at the first sight of a robe.
Especially when the man wearing it was talking on a mobile and carrying all of his stuff in a Tesco’s bag (although I was pleased to see that it was a “bag for life”).
Was this nervousness on my part? Hysteria caused by the unfamiliarity of it all? Or am I just a bit of a pleb?
There were bits of the ceremony that I liked very much – the sharing of bread and wine (mmm – sound familiar?), with the wish that those present would never be hungry or thirsty. But some of it, calling on spirits, gods and goddesses just wasn’t my cup of English Breakfast.
Of course, as with all ceremonies, my opinions are unimportant; I am there for facilitate which, I hope I did, paying a tribute to the deceased before handing over to the family members who wanted this variation on a ritual. Had there been anything that I was really unhappy about, I would have tactfully suggested that another person might be better at leading their ceremony.
And, of course, all things are relative. There were two pieces of music played. One was a track from the eighties that I knew well, but was considered experimental in its day. The other was a more modern chant, which I thought was just a bit weird and tree-hugging. I played them both to someone younger than me – she thought the chant was fine, but didn’t like the eighties thing – thought it was a bit weird and tree-hugging.....
Perhaps (as many times in life) the music that has taught me the lesson - things are only weird to those experiencing them for the first time. When they are familiar, they become part of our normal.
Ultimately, the family and friends had the ceremony that they wanted; a tribute, time for prayer and their ritual and that’s all that matters.
For me? It was an interesting experience to observe, and taught me a little about myself. Mainly, I learnt that although it’s not big or clever, robes make me smile.
I am a woman with many hidden shallows.
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
The loneliness of the long-distance celebrant?
Maybe it's the winter.
Maybe it's the post-Christmas lull
Maybe it's my age.
But I really miss having day to day contact with colleagues.
Now, I'm not running back to the "proper" job - there are more things that I don't miss, trust me. But sometimes, this can feel like a lonely business. We have colleagues, and we work well together (in some, if not all cases) but we are also, sometimes, in competition with each other, and so it doesn't always feel as though we're pulling together.
And our good friends in the dismal trade are also (in the main) jolly good chaps. We live in the same town, we may run into each other, occasionally, outside of work, but we are reliant on them for our income and they can choose whoever they like - we cannot assume that we will get the gigs.
So what is it that I'm actually after? Do you know, I'm really not sure - this is another of those muses sent out into the universe. I'm not lonely in general, I'm lucky enough to have a close family and good friends. It's just this self-employed business takes an awful lot of getting used to!
Peace and love to all.
Maybe it's the post-Christmas lull
Maybe it's my age.
But I really miss having day to day contact with colleagues.
Now, I'm not running back to the "proper" job - there are more things that I don't miss, trust me. But sometimes, this can feel like a lonely business. We have colleagues, and we work well together (in some, if not all cases) but we are also, sometimes, in competition with each other, and so it doesn't always feel as though we're pulling together.
And our good friends in the dismal trade are also (in the main) jolly good chaps. We live in the same town, we may run into each other, occasionally, outside of work, but we are reliant on them for our income and they can choose whoever they like - we cannot assume that we will get the gigs.
So what is it that I'm actually after? Do you know, I'm really not sure - this is another of those muses sent out into the universe. I'm not lonely in general, I'm lucky enough to have a close family and good friends. It's just this self-employed business takes an awful lot of getting used to!
Peace and love to all.
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