Bittersweet

A number of his family and friends gathered recently to celebrate the long life of a grand old man.  The guest of honor was present only in everyone's heart.  Those who stood spoke of Bill's integrity, honesty, hard work ethics, and love.  We who sat in the shade of trees planted long ago next to Tinka's most beautiful gardens nodded in agreement and also learned things we'd not known before.  There were tears, but also moments of laughter; the funniest was when Tinka's longtime pastor began by saying how wonderful Maxine had been, supporting Bill and being constantly at his side.  Quizzical looks were being passed ("Who is Maxine?") and the pastor realized his mistake, calling Tinka by the first name that popped into his head.  I don't know that I've ever seen a man of the cloth so embarrassed.  The church ladies set up tables groaning with food.  Church ladies are good at that.  One introduced herself to me, saying, "I'm the head honcho."  My friend Kit, Bill's niece, had come from southern California with her two sons and we sat together.  I'd not met Jed and Jake; they're every bit as nice as their mother has bragged about.  Tinka is the most serene woman I've ever met.  I'm so glad we've become friends.  Bill sure would have enjoyed his party.

On the way home, I needed to stop and get restocked with chicken and goat feed.  I walked into the store I've been going to for seventeen years and was nonplussed when Joanie, the owner, stared at me and said, "Who are you?"  I thought, "Oh, my God, she's losing it!"  Then she said, "In all these years I've never seen you in a dress.  Where's your uniform?"  Maybe I should get gussied up more often and not shock the natives again.