The small things that amuse

It would be comforting to think that everyone has a redeeming feature; some little spot which prevents them from being totally unpleasant. And often, that little spot is a love of animals.

A short while ago, I was conducting the ceremony for a man who had been....difficult. From reading between the lines, he was fairly selfish, inconsiderate, you get the picture. However, he really loved his dogs. He had owned several, supported a number of canine charities and, basically, preferred them to people (a sometimes understandable position).

And so I was asked by his family to focus on this side of his personality. We had poems about dogs, readings about dogs, stories about his dogs. Basically, it was more doggie than Crufts.

All went okay; the family were pleased and there was a nice display of smiles and handshaking afterwards. On my way back to the vestry, to pick up my things, I noticed a collection box for the next ceremony - for the Cats Protection League.

I like to think that there was a bit of a "Cats and Dogs" punch up in the car park.


Aah.... it's the little things.

Quote du jour

Every now and again we have the privilege of meeting someone who is arranging their own funeral.

Sometimes this is an "in theory" exercise for them, so they have an idea what instructions to leave their loved ones. But, more often, it's because the person has had a terminal diagnosis and they want to get all of their affairs in order.

This is happening at the moment and I have been dealing with a gent who seems well but really isn't.

He rang, a couple of days ago, to talk about the work that I had done so far as well as other arrangements for the funeral. Having underestimated what was involved in putting it all together, he said "Honestly, X.Piry - all of this funeral business is killing me!".

Not sure that's quite what he meant.

Sorry - AWOL again

Apologies - no posting for ages! Just been really busy (weddings, namings, funerals.....)

Just an update on the music from my last posting. A different FD from the group directed the ceremony. I had taken my CD player along, but he told me that the arrangers shouldn't have said that they wouldn't play it.

He offered to sit at the back of the chapel and press the buttons. We then had a few minutes trying to work out the Crem's CD player, but apart from that, all fine.

Will hope to post again soon, when I have something interesting to say.

Cheers, love and peace.

I'm not having that!

I’m dealing with the ceremony of a man who was a specialist on particular musical instruments. He has a CD of music that is not available elsewhere and so our good friends at Wesley can’t get hold of it.

In theory, this is not a problem. The chapel has a CD player in it, and in the past the FD has sat at the back and pressed the buttons for me.

Except, he won’t do it anymore. He expects the family to do it.

Unfortunately the CD player is at the back of the chapel and so I can’t operate that and conduct the service.

So, I think I’m going to take my own portable CD player (small chapel, small congregation) and play it myself. I’m rather peeved with the FD to be honest, but he is part of a large group (I’ll let you all guess) and collectively they give me a lot of work, so falling out with him would not be clever.

I doubt if they’re reducing their fee because they’re asking a family member to act as DJ.

Should I get down from my high horse? Or do others think that this FD is extracting the urine, too?

Don't be afraid to try something new....

We all say "this ceremony is about you and your dead - you can have what you like". I, for one, genuinely mean this, when I say it....but I also know what works well.

We could get all poncy, and talk about "flow" and "narrative arc" and these are things that we need to be aware of, whether it's conscious or not.

So what are the rules that you resist being broken? I ask, because it happened to me recently and was an enlightening experience. I'm a big music fan, generally, and in funerals particularly. It doesn't matter if it's a comic novelty song, or a beautiful aria, if it's appropriate to the people involved, I say "chuck it in". Music is also useful during times of movement (entry and exit, in particular). It covers that nasty squeak of a rubber heel on the parquet, or the sniffing and sobbing of the self-conscious.

However, this particular family wanted things to be different. They wanted the last piece of music (classical, operatic, poignant and wonderful) to be played in full and then leave to silence. The curtains were staying open, allowing folks a moment or two with the coffin on their way out, and this was happening without any musical accompaniment.

I offered an alternative - would you like to hear it all of the way through (sensible, double-time slot; there was no rush) and then play it again as we leave? No, definitely hear it once and then leave to silence. So this is what we did.

I had been discussing this with the long-suffering one, and suggested that it would be a powerful ending, but not terribly uplifting. I think that this prediction was right (at least for me), although one member of the congregation told me that he felt very uplifted, so it wasn't as negative as I had feared.

This has raised questions in my mind and regular readers of this blog will know that I like things that cause me to question my practice. One of the reasons that I like music is that it is a great masker (as described above). And, in the same vein, if a family have chosen three pieces, I suggest that the most upbeat one goes at the end, as we will try to end the ceremony getting people to leave death behind and turn again to life.

But, really, who the hell am I to do this? I'm not there to tell people what to think or feel, and if they want to go through the emotional wringer, because that's what they need, then me trying to end on a jolly note is no good to anyone.

Now, as with all funerals, things vary from family to family. They also vary within a congregation - some need to weep and gnash teeth, others need to look forward to brighter days.

And so, as usual, there is no one answer. But it has been an interesting exercise and one that has reminded me that I needn't be afraid of silence. It can be overpowering sometimes, but it does provide a place of stillness at a time when folks need to simply sit, breathe and feel. It's another tool to use, in creating the best funerals that we can.

To the family who suggested it, I am very grateful.

Seeing the same old faces

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that I had been to the hospital to visit the son of a "deceased". Now, I've had a call to do the son's funeral. This was not a young man - he was a grandfather, so we don't have the tragedy of a life cut too far short (although, don't tell his family that - I'm sure they'd have liked a few years). No, this is more a sadness from seeing a family grieving again, before the previous sorrow has had a chance to work its course. What was particulalry interesting is that it appears that my perception of the gent was way off. I had him down as an elegant, educated man (posh accent, you see - fools me every time). Yet, he was not as he seemed, being more likely (through both choice and circumstances) to shop at Oxfam than Saville Row. He was by no means unintelligent, but not the bookish type that I had thought. From the different family members that I've spoken to, it appears that he gave different impressions to those much closer to him, too. I've got to weave a path which enables everyone to recognise the person that they knew, while getting over the contradictions. The danger with these types of ceremonies, is that they are a little distant, as I can't get to the true "essence" of the man. But if he was an enigma, then perhaps that was his essence. It's unlikely that I'll ever know for sure.

I know I shouldn't laugh....

... and I didn't at the time. But this has made me smile, since.

I was talking to a lady about her Dad - the lady was telling me that he was very good at keeping his personal records etc in order, despite difficulties.

"He'd struggled at school, you see - he was anorexic."



Does that mean that he couldn't even eat his words?