Old southern women love funerals.  Not the actual death of the loved one, but the funeral.  I have suspected this for sometime, but what with the sudden increase in the number of funerals I’ve had to attend, it has been confirmed.  There is a whole process to a southern funeral.  This is true whether the deceased is a member of the family, a cherished friend, or a casual acquaintance.  It begins with the phone calls.  It is important to get settled in to a comfortable chair with your iced tea or coffee (seasonal choice) because this is going to take a while, after all you are going to call everyone you can think of.  Then you start dialing and answering all the questions.  You have to ask about who is taking the family what…”well, I thought I would take a fruit salad.  You know Nettie Sue will be baking that horrible Chess pie she always thinks is so good.  What are you taking, and don’t say ham.  I was over there yesterday and they had ham coming out their ears!” Then you have to discuss clothing…”what are you wearing? I figured I’d just wear a nice knit pantsuit if I went to the visitation, but if I go to the funeral I’ll wear my blue floral dress.  You know, the one I wore to church a couple a Sunday’s back when we had that guest preacher come?  But don’t worry about what to wear.  When John Earl died Sylvia wore pants to the service! Pants!…and her the widow…shameful is what it was. But people just wear anything nowadays.” (You’re beginning to see why you need a comfortable chair and a beverage aren’t you?) 

My father passed away last April, and I had the unpleasant task of being on the receiving end of the love and concern of several old southern women.  I quickly learned that some were truly trying to comfort, and some were just fishing for details.  “Was your mama with him at the end?…Did he go in his sleep?…Did he leave enough to keep your mama taken care of?”  I knew better than to be rude too, because if word got around to my 77 year old mother that I had tongue lashed some nosy biddy, she just might have taken a switch to me right then and there.  Now remember, all of this is before the  actual funeral service.  This is when you are still just dealing with the shock of what has happened. 

The next step, after you have gotten the details, is to discuss whether you are going to the visitation or the actual funeral.  There are a lot of factors that determine which service an old southern woman will attend: can she drive at night? (visitation is almost always in the evening), will her flowers have arrived at the funeral home by then? (you don’t want to get there before your flowers/plant), who else is going to be there?  I described the idea of the visitation to one of my children as the last family reunion the deceased will ever attend.  There is a lot of truth to that.  If it weren’t for the corpse and the crying family one could almost believe there was a party going on. There will be pictures passed around, and stories told, and “I haven’ seen you since you were knee high to a grasshopper!”, and “you don’t look like yourself!” which is always a head scratcher, and occasional hugs and kisses for the bereaved, who if they have been truly southern raised will either be standing at the coffin weeping openly or working the room like Jerry Lewis on Labor Day.

I have never understood the need for an open coffin.  I don’t like people staring at me now, I sure as hell don’t want them gaping at me when I’m dead and can’t do anything about it.  And I can’t say that any of these observances are limited to the south, I just know that they happen there…frequently.  Back to the subject, the corpse  is lying on a pedestal at the front of the room like a bizarre center piece that everyone must pay homage to.  And they do.  At this point you will hear the most unbelievable comment that will ever come out of one person’s mouth, “Don’t he look natural?” (I know it’s grammatically incorrect, but you’re in the south fool).  The answer is… No!  I have never been to a single service where I would have said yes to that question.  My dad was wearing makeup and looked Asian for God’s sake!  He never did that!  “Why he looks like he could just sit up and talk to you.”  Well, the first thing he would say would be, “get this damn makeup off of me” and that would be followed by “who told them I was a Chinaman?”

The finale…is the total number of visitors who sign the guest book.  Each man, woman, and child crossing the threshold must sign the guest book.  I once believed that this was so the family could realize who had attended, after the fact.  I know now that it is more than that.  It is a pissing contest.  “She didn’t have a very good turn out.  I bet there weren’t fifty people there.” Or, “there were people standing in the aisle waiting to view the body.”  And my favorite, “You would have thought there were a lot more people there than there was, but I counted the names in the guest book and if everyone signed there was only eighty-two.”  I know it sounds petty but that’s what old southern women are sometimes.  I’ve been taking notes because in thrty years or so it will be my turn to pick up the flag and carry the colors.  I want my mama to be proud.

I mentioned before that death in the south is less about death, and more about the fact that you’re still the one outside the coffin.  I have no reason to believe that is going to change anytime soon.  I think maybe the open casket thing is so all the old folks can go up and look and make sure it’s really not them in there.  I don’t know,  I just know that my aunts and uncles are reaching there late 70’s - 90’s range so my research on the southern funeral scenario is far from over.  Every time the phone rings and it’s mom calling I wonder if she’s in her comfy chair with her ice water ready to ask “did you hear?”

My weight is ballooning. Understand that when I say ballon it’s less of a “oh look, a party!” and more of a “hey mom, can we ride that?”  I weigh more now than I ever have, and that includes the three times I was pregnant.  Well, actually only the last time because with each progressive pregnancy my start weight was more, so it only stands to reason… (Why is that?  Do they leave something behind when they come out? ) I read somewhere that if you are in a happy marriage you tend to gain one pound each year, if you don’t follow some diet and exercise plan.  I’m so happy I’ve just about tripled that estimate with no end to my happiness in sight.  Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so freakin’ happy.

I know that part pf the problem is the medications I’m on.  At least three of them list weight gain as a common side effect.  Just my luck.  Some of them have groovy side effects like weight loss and hallucinations…not to mention the fun you could have with dementia, but no, I get weight gain!  My mom is taking one of the meds I take, and while she’s not giving out numbers I know she’s gone up two pant sizes because she and I are wearing the same size now.  She used to inherit my cast offs. Now she is just inheriting my crappy attitude about medication with stupid side effects.  I also strongly suspect that she may be taking the one that lists dementia as a side effect, but if she is she can’t remember.

My hubby, who’s chubby, and I have decided to seek help at Jenny Craig once the holidays have passed. This won’t be our first foray into the diet world.  It will be somewhere around the fifth or sixth.  I hate it.  We have been on so many diets I’m surprised we haven’t developed our own plan and made some real money…but if you saw us you might understand why that might not work.  We’ve done Jenny Craig…together we lost a sixth grader.  We did L.A Weight Loss…together we lost a full sized female.  We tried to do Nutri-systems and quickly figured out the secret to their success, the food is just to horrible to eat!  So now we are back to good old Jenny Craig, and together, if we are successful we will  lose a Sumo wrestler.  The worst part of it is for every pound I lose he will lose three. Plus, not only will  I oversee my diet plan, I will oversee his.  “What else can I have?  Did I have all my fruits? Do I still have a starch?” and so on.  And since he’s a man, and a foot taller than me he gets to consume twice as many calories as I do.  So at the end of the day when I’ve completed my list of foods he will still be gnoshing away.   However; as you can tell I’m a kind and patient woman who would never set him up to fail by giving him the wrong foods or calorie counts.  How can you even suggest such a thing?  I’m also concerned that the medications (and not at all the fact that I’m older) won’t allow me to lose the weight like I have before.  When I asked my skinny, athletic, ridiculously unsympathetic doctor about it he told me that it was a real Catch 22.  Take the meds, no pain, be fat.  Don’t take the meds, have pain, be thinner.   Ta-Da!!  It’s good to be me!  The good news is I have some kick-ass pain killers on me at all times; the bad news is I need them.  The other bad news is sometimes they wear off.

So I am going to diet.  I am going to be happy and positive and reduce my fats and carbs and flavors.  I shall be svelte, and as long and lean as 5′3″ gets.  This will be the lie that I tell myself every day as I throw out the food and eat the boxes it came in.  “Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels”.  I don’t know who said that, but a bigger crock never came out of anyone’s mouth.  Thin doesn’t have a feeling.  I know.  I used to be it…once a long time ago.  Now I’m two thins joined together in the middle.  Anyway, back to that crappy saying…it may have actually been on a poster or something somewhere, but whoever said it was probably young.  I know because I have experienced some pretty delicious food in my life (true Italian gellato being right up there at the top) and if my whole body didn’t ache 24/7 I probably would just continue my search for the world’s best of almost anything with chocolate, or any combination of brown sugar and butter.  I would follow these searches closely with my search for the world’s most comfortable (and forgiving) stretch pants.

There are many motivators for losing weight.  Not mundane things like high blood pressure and diabetes, my blood pressure and blood sugar both run low, I do have high cholesterol but I take a pill for that…(see meds that can cause weight gain).  Oh sure, one of you skinny little Nancies is going to swear that if I lost the forty pounds I need to I wouldn’t need that pill.  Whatever, I had high cholesterol when I was thin too so neener-neener!  Don’ get between a fat bitch and her pills! Anyway, real motivators, like the one a woman feels for her family.  One of my primary motivations for wanting to lose weight right now is to stay healthy for my grandson and all the grandkids to come.  That dear sweet little face.  Those two little arms that reach for me and the smile I get when he first sees me.  There is nothing so dear…except revenge.  I love being able to extract a little revenge.  I called my son the other night just to see what was going on, and in the background I heard my grandson crying (screaming, pitching a hissy).  More importantly, I heard fear in the voice of my son.  “Mom, did any of us kids ever cry for so long at that pitch that was just outside of that range that only a dog can hear that you thought you might actually do yourself harm?” I knew then that some small part of him knew that a being only eighteen months old was in charge of his home.  He was very afraid.  It was then I knew that there was no way in hell I was checking out early.  I knew my prayers would be answered.  He would raise a child just like he was when he was a kid!  Glory to God…all things are possible!  Not only are these battles worth sticking around for, I’ve got two more kids I cursed with the same curse, and they haven’t even thought about having kids yet!  Hot Damn!  I got a lot of living to do! 

 

Today’s Pa-ism: If life was a sow, I’d be on the hind teat!  Definition: Things suck