Asides

A few shorts from the weekend, in no particular order:

Uncle Freddie and I were walking away from the niche after the urn had been set to rest in its nook. Uncle Freddie was one of The Socialist’s grandmother’s brothers. He is also a retired minister, and had officiated at the funeral. Uncle Freddie had been married twice, and lost both of his wives to cancer. He was recently remarried – a brave woman, if you ask me – and he was telling me as we walked along that he’d made plans to be cremated and divided into three sections so he could be with all three of his wives. I think he was joking, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

Randal is the husband of The Socialist’s youngest aunt. He had some high-powered job that entailed big paychecks and lots of travel until a few years ago, when he was squeezed out into the cold by a corporate downsizing. He now works as a consultant, and still travels, but his life is now far more laid back than it used to be. I don’t think he’s settled into this semi-retirement thing very well. Randal is a bit of a snob, when it comes to where he will eat, what he will wear, and whom he will talk with. I’ve always felt I was a bit invisible when I was around him, but it’s never particularly bothered me.

As we were getting ready to leave Sunday morning, I wandered out to the kitchen to bid my farewells to the houseguests that were scrounging about for breakfast there. Randal was there, and for some reason took an interest in the jacket I was wearing. The logo of the company I work for is on the left of the jacket, and Randal checked that and then the back of my jacket, apparently looking to see if there was anything embroidered there as well (there wasn’t). I explained that the logo was my employer’s. He was immediately interested, wanting to know more about the company and what I did there. Apparently I’ve been so far off his radar screen that he had no clue. When I explained I was a veterinarian, his demeanor changed entirely. Suddenly I became part of the visible landscape. I needed to get going, so I had to cut conversation short. It will be interesting to see how future interactions go, now that he realizes I’m Doctor Salamander.

As we were getting ready to leave for the funeral home, The Socialist’s grandfather, aka The Colonel, was playing with an older looking camera. He asked me if I’d brought my camera with me, and I responded that I hadn’t anticipated any opportunity to use it this trip, so had left it home. He then asked me if I would use his camera to take pictures at the funeral.

Whah-huh? My immediate reaction was that I couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly. I said, mostly in a bid to buy some time, “You want me to take pictures?” My mind at this point is racing. What in the world does he want me to take pictures of at the funeral? What are people going to think when they see me shutter-bugging my way through the ceremony? Who in the world takes pictures at a funeral!?

Well, what could I say? I agreed to take the camera, and started checking it out to be sure that I’d be able to handle it when the time came. I was trying to figure out a tactful way to ask exactly what they wanted pictures of when The Socialist’s aunt said that she’d brought her digital camera. She retrieved it from her car and as she was slipping it in her purse I asked The Colonel how old the film in the camera he’d given me was. No one had any idea. I warned that old film may not develop correctly, and consensus was that we’d leave the film camera behind and use the aunt’s digital.

The Colonel also found a couple of Polaroid instamatic cameras. Curious as to whether or not they worked, he snapped a picture of The Socialist. The picture developed poorly, with top borders that looked like someone had dripped white paint from the ceiling and ghostly shapeless distortions to either side. The film was obviously far too old to be useful, but the picture was so weird that they kept snapping shots until all the film in the camera was used up. I hope someone kept those pictures.