1. The Wedding
My old buddy Jake, who worked on a certain campus humour newspaper with me about a decade ago, got married to the lovely Lauren on Saturday. The service was in a little tiny church in the country; apparently everyone in Jake's family got married there, and he wasn't going to let this tradition get tarnished by him missing out. The reception was held at a golf course just outside Barrie, and it was delightful.
I haven't spent much time in churches over the past couple of decades. Most of that time has been either for weddings or my niece's First Communion, if that's what's it's called; she was 8-ish and wore a white dress, which is fucking creepy because it looked like a wedding dress, and really, who's marrying at 8?
Anyway, churches make me think about religion as a whole, and my relationship with it. I had a little time to kill while sitting in the pew before the ceremony started, so I took out this little book that's in (I presume most) Catholic churches which explains how this-or-that rite is performed, outlining the various steps and using arcane and opaque terminology that I didn't really understand, along with a couple hundred hymns.
On the one hand, it's a very powerful experience, this religion thing. I was once under its spell and it felt pretty real and complete, and I will admit, it's pretty alluring to think that people have figured out how it all gets wrapped up for eternity.
But on the other hand, if you have two thousand years to perfect a ceremony, set of literature, catchy songs that keep kids interested and singing-along, it'd better feel real and seem complete, or else you've just been wasting your time. Add in humans' proclivity for making connections even when there aren't any to be made, and you've got yourself a religion, pal.
Because I don't consider myself part of Christianity anymore, maybe I saw the ceremony through a different, more-sceptical set of eyes than a lot of people in the room. What I saw was a father walking his possession down the aisle, dressed in white to give off the impression she'd never fucked anyone before (I'm not judging either way, but seriously, it's 2015, who hasn't fucked?), and giving said possession to another man to take care of, presumably until one of them dies or gets tired of picking-up after the other. Dad almost said to groom, "Well, here are the keys, don't drive her too rough in the winter, I changed the oil every 5000 miles."
Naturally, I'm an asshole for thinking and writing this. And, am I bitter that my romantic life hasn't turned out the way I'd hoped/wished so far? You'd better believe it, buster. Still, though, the symbolism is weird and creepy, and I hope that if I get married someday, it's going to look NOTHING like that.
The reception was fun. I was seated at a table with a lot of the bride's friends, who were all up from the US and had never seen Nanaimo bars or butter tarts before. (They loved them both.) Another of her friends, who was at another table, was hitting on me whenever she could, I think, but... ehhh.... I wasn't feelin' it. I nearly pulled an Irish Exit and just split without telling anyone, but I had to give the new couple my best on the way out, and felt guilty without saying a quick goodbye to the Americans.
2. The Funeral
My last grandparent (my maternal grandfather) passed away in his sleep early on Tuesday morning. He was 95-and-change, and up until just before turning 95 was in pretty damn good health, and always has been. My brother and I joked with a few people today that it looks like we've got pretty good genes, as far as longevity goes.
I left Toronto just after 7 this morning, picked up my brother in Woodstock, and we arrived at our parents' place whereupon we changed into suits and headed up to the funeral home. There was a wake/visitation before the actual funeral itself, and my brother and I saw some people that we hadn't seen in decades: people our parents' generation who looked vaguely familiar, but I usually couldn't put a name to the face, which made me feel pretty terrible, and also no longer really part of that community, which stings.
The service was lovely, as the minister from the church my grandparents went to presided. They were fairly religious, so there were numerous scripture readings and possibly the longest prayer I've ever witnessed. A small choir also sang "How Great Thou Art," which kinda fits. But there were also moments of levity where the minister slipped in a couple of well-placed and tasteful moments of whimsy; I hesitate to say he cracked a joke, but maybe one could say he did. Also, said choir sang an a cappella version of grandpa's favourite song, "Don't Sit Under The Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me)," which seemed a little weird at first but then totally made sense, as he was a huge fan of music all his life and played in a band for years.
The four grandsons and two family friends were pallbearers; my brother and I did this for the first time last year when our uncle died, so we weren't rookies. When I was a kid, I remember my dad mentioning here-and-there when he'd fill that role in a funeral, and I remember thinking that was just about the most grown-up thing anyone could ever be asked to do. (I guess that makes me really grown-up, then.)
There was a short service right beside the grave, and then we went back to my grandparents' church for some light refreshments. I talked a little more in-depth with a few of my relatives and family friends, which was nice; a couple of them remarked that they "didn't see a lot of [me] anymore" which, again, kinda stings. But, y'know, in my defence, anyone who lives as far away as I do -- and I'm hardly alone in this, I'm sure of it -- isn't going to be hanging around the ol' homestead every weekend. I'm trying to make a life of my own, and while it'd be nice to visit more often... ehhh, I'm just probably going to fill this space with excuses, so I might as well just cut it out now.
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So, there you have it: six days, one wedding, one eclipse, one funeral. Two of those events occurred under clear skies.
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