I think it was the most dynamic duo I have ever seen. And I've seen some really dynamic duos. Link and Midna. "Sir, are you here for the memorial service of Mrs. Stewartsky Sr. III?" Tall One asked. "Why, I...I guess!" I said, overwhelmed by the sheer, raw base awenem of their operation. The Short One could cling to walls like the Beam Pirates during the Elite Pirate fight. She could also fly to an extent, it appeared...or, hover...
My Grandmother was one of the first there. Also, my Pastor. I was so happy to see him. I didn't know anyone else there, and the Short One was beginning to creep me out a little. "Hellfire and DAMNATION!" the Justice screamed when he saw me. He said he was preparing for the service, said he'd been practicing his grimaced shout of "HELLFIRE!" for hours in the mirror. "Well, you've certainly got it down," I said after getting over the initial shock. "I doubted my own salvation for a second, there!" I said. He nodded his head enthusiastically, smiling. His trademark.
We all sort of stood around a bit waiting for Molly, my Aunt. She was late. While we were waiting, I discovered my camera did not work, and...I WAS THE CAMERAMAN! Oh, no!
There was a bus route nearby, and I considered throwing myself in front of one of the big creepy things to bypass the severe, horrific, piercing blow of failing in my God given duty to record that service. I felt all of my hopes and dreams fading. I felt like a leaf crumpled and browning on the ground, awaiting the rain for a trip to the gutter to live out my life as a sewer leaf.
Then I remembered I had cleared my SD card. And...sure enough, I got to record it with my digital camera! It looks simply terrible, I am sure, but I recorded it nonetheless. I had something like two minutes left once it was over (whew); enough to take about 40 pictures.
My Pastor was kind of nervous, but he did great. Certainly better than I would have. I think Short One and Tall One were regretting not having the pulpit bolted down. He pushed it over two or three times, and finally settled for standing on it, towering above his captive audience.
"HELLFIRE, DAMNATION!" my Pastor railed. "EVERLASTING INFERNO, ETERNAL JUDGMENT!" he spat. "YOU'RE ALL GONNA ROT IN THE BITTER PITS OF HELL, AND EVERY ONE OF YOU KNOWS IT!" he shrieked in a primal fashion. "FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, ETERNAL SEPARATION FROM THE LORD!" he blared.
"ROMANS 3:23 STATES THAT ALL MEN ARE SINNERS REGARDLESS, AND ALL MEN, INCLUDING YOU, HAVE FALLEN SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD! ONLY DEATH AWAITS! THERE'S ONLY ONE ESCAPE! THERE'S ONLY ONE HOPE OF SALVATION! ONE LORD, ONE FAITH, ONE BAPTISM! YOU MUST ACCEPT THE GLORIOUS GRACE OF GOD THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST! PUT YOUR FAITH IN HIM, HIM ALONE, AND NOTHING ELSE!" he finished.
There was an awkward pause. When I looked over, somehow the audience, all but 7 or 8 of them, had recoiled so fiercely that they were actually sitting several seats further back than they had been. I saw no one stand up (I have totally awesome peripheral vision), so I can only assume they melted into the floor and slithered their way under the pews. Many of them had taken liberal use of the alloted tissues to stuff their ears as scalding tears of frustration streamed down their faces, their teeth gritted. It took them awhile to realize he had quit talking. The best I can describe their actions is "writhing."
Others, the older ones, I assume, had flipped over with their legs sticking straight up, kicking violently; they had failed their trek under the pews. Pastor's Wife, the Mrs. Raw Support, was there. She's...supportive. Her presence kept the audience from crawling too far back in their desperate attempts to escape my Pastor's voice.
Afterwards, everyone was really happy. I would assume as happy as someone would be to discover that a tornado had passed over their house, and they survived hiding in a cupboard. My mom instructed me to take a picture of the milling crowd every once and a while, and afterward, a lot of us got a "family picture" taken (I was shiningly brilliant enough to bring a tripod; I made them all look like fools!). I think most of us were there.
I didn't know my Great Grandmother. All I knew of her is that she likes fish and chips. After hearing memories exchanged and my Mom blathering with her family on the phone, I discovered that my Great Grandmother used to knit sweaters out of tears because yarn cost too much. She would best be described as "stupidly frugal."
Did you know that being too nice will kill you? Proven fact. Being too mean will easily kill you, as well. Being too clever will kill you. And so will being too frugal.
Among the things I overheard, as pertaining to her frugality:
"She was so frugal, she used to water her garden with her toilet water!" Eww!
"She was so frugal, she used to beat children herself, instead of hiring someone to do it!" Weird!
"She was so frugal, she would bake 'scorpion cakes...'" which is a cake pan filled with SCORPIONS EWW!
"She was so frugal, she used to do her own laundry in, you guessed it, her toilet water before she watered her garden with it!" GROSS!
"She was so frugal, she used a cheaper butter alternative - air! Her cakes were "stillbaked!"
"She was so frugal, once she had to have brain surgery (massive brain tumor), and she did it herself with two butter knives, a grapefruit spoon and a pastrami sandwich!"
On and on and on. Apparently, she was very cheap. But she never missed a birthday (her freezer would fill up with frozen scorpions; she used them like normal people use frozen blueberries and slash or cranberries), never missed a wedding (scorpion cake covered in fondant), and always put on a Halloween display. Her neighbor (he had a backhoe) would dig her a pit, she would push the children into the pit, and the pit would be crawling with scorpions. It was voted the neighborhood's least favorite Halloween display 58 years in a row.
She was...a human. She survived three cold wars, five hot ones, and countless dreadful, demonic, arrogantly cruel and evil Arizona summers.
Afterwards, we received a call. All I heard was screaming and crying. I figured someone had gotten in an accident. I wore my suit, so I was dread to anticipate dragging a (possibly) decapitated family member from the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. In fact, I always wear a tee under in case I have to drag a (possibly) decapitated family member out of the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. I suggest wearing normal clothes under dress clothes wholeheartedly.
Long story short, a friend of my Mom's had a dead cat which needed to be buried. I dug the hole and covered the little darling up. A flower plant was planted on top. Rest in peace, Cloud.
Two funerals in one day. Do we have bad luck?
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