Celebration of Life

I am so glad we don't talk much about funerals any more or even memorial services--we call them celebrations of life, and that's what the occasion should be. I took Charles this morning to the celebration of the life of William Russell Jenkins, surgeon, educator, husband and father, and good friend. We sat in the back, with my brother and sister-in-law, and I missed much of what as said (I did have my hearing aids in!) but I heard loud and clear when the minister said, "We were fortunate to have him in our lives." There were two eulogies, one by a young surgeon he had encouraged and one by his brother, himself in his 80s. The high point of the service, for me, came when Ray Jenkins led the congregation in singing his brother's favorite hymn, "Love Lifted Me." Ray led in an amazingly strong voice for a man of his age. And once again I found myself singing the familiar hymns, "Holy, Holy, Holy," and "Amazing Grace." It was truly, as John said, a meaningful service that gave you something to take away with you.
A good-sized crowd turned out, though of course afterward John and Cindy and I commented on the people who weren't there. But at the reception beforehand, I saw many people I hadn't see in a long time, and it was nice to be greeted. I always feel in that crowd of physicians I'm known these days as my brother's sister, which is okay because I am warmly welcomed. I got hugs from Russ' wife, Connie, and his daughter, Jerry, and son, William. I agreed with Charles--I was very glad I had gone.
Charles was tired after the service, so I hurried to get him back to Trinity Terrace, though several people wanted to stop and greet him. But he said he just wanted to be back lying in his bed. So I rushed him down there and signed him back in, then rushed home and arrived only a few minutes before John and Cindy. We all went to lunch at Carshon's and that visit was the icing on the cake of the day. They even sat for a while and visited on the front porch before they headed back to the country. At the deli, where I'm a fixture, I said to the manager, "This is my brother," and John said, "That's true." So I said, "I think we're both proud of that," and he grinned and said, "That's true, too."
It was a day on which I said goodbye to a man who had been very good to me, but it was also a comforting and most satisfying day.

A contented cat

This is a contented cat, sleeping happily on my desk, where he prefers to spend most of his time. Wywy (full name Wynona Judley) is 18, an old man now. When he was a kitten, Jamie found him on a back rural road in Minnesota and named him Wynona Judley. Only months later, we learned he is a he not a she, so now we have pronoun confusion--he, she, it. It doesn't bother Wywy a lot, but it bothers us--Jordan hates it when I say he, and half the time I say she. We are pretty sure he's part Maine Coon and is surely the most affectionate, attention-needing cat I've ever known.
Today is my brother's birthday. I won't give away his age, but he's six-and-a-half years older than me, so you can figure it out if you want to. I called early this morning with birthday greetings, only to find out I owe him a public apology for last night's blog. He never thought I had a brain tumor--that was my interpretation of what he was saying (give me a little medical knowledge, from having been around doctors all my life, and I am dangerous). What John didn't realize was that I don't have an awkward gait when I'm not suffering from my fear of open space--I walk as well as anyone else (and probably more smoothly than he does, since he has that sort of bowleg-old-cowboy gait). He thought I had some neurological deficit, but I assured him that isn't true. When I'm confident, walking next to someone, I can walk with the best of them. Anyway, he's a wonderful brother--I looked long and hard at brother b'day cards but they were all so sappy I couldn't buy one. And as I told him, nothing jumped out at me and said, "John would like this for his birthday." So he may get a present in May or July. Who knows? But I am delighted to see him, at an age he never thought he'd live to see, happier than he's ever been in his life.
And speaking of age, I visited my friend Charles last night. Since he's been on the nursing care floor of the retirement home, he's gained almost twenty pounds and is one happy, bright camper. Friends from his Unitarian church were there, and we had a really fun time visiting. Charles is a delight and an inspiration.
Lovely wet day with slow, drizzly rain that really did a lot for the plants that Greg put in yesterday. I spent the morning cooking (what else on Sunday?), but it really wasn't much. I put together a tamale pie casserole that I'd made the sauce for last night--you make it with polenta instead of masa. And I made a pot of Reva's good beans (Reva was Charles' wife) and took both to neighbors Margaret and Dennis Johnson for a going-away party for Sue and Alex and Hunter. The Johnsons are wonderfully hospitable in a beautiful house, and it was a really pleasant evening.
But I'd spent the rest of the day doing stuff--running and emptying the dishwasher, riding my stationary bike, showering, checking emails, and, of course, reading. Then lulled by the rain I had a good nap and was up and ready to go to the 4 p.m. party. Jay and Dennis came to get my casserole and pot of beans (the latter was really heavy), and Susan walked across the street with me. I managed to send the rest of my casserole home with Christian (Jordan stayed home sick and Jacob arrived wearing her boots and a cowboy hat--wish I'd gotten a picture of that!). I also sent some beans with him but brought quite a bit back with me.  So I've got leftover to start the week, but they are non-fattening. I don't want to talk about all the cheese in the tamale pie, but it sure was good.