Funeral and such
The funeral for Arthur was really nice, in particular the luncheon afterwards. After eating, we spent almost an hour listening to a bunch of old people who knew him years and years (like 70-90 years) ago tell stories. For those who don't know him, some of these may not seem that cute, but if you did, they are great--I just wanted to get them down.
Arthur came from an interesting family--they were very neat people. In particular, Arthur's mom made sure the driveway of the farm was always clean. The gravel driveway. She actually would sweep the driveway all the time. For instance, if someone was mowing the lawn, she followed the mower, making sure the grass clippings stayed off the driveway. Art's dad was just as fanatical about weeds in the field. If they saw a weed, it got picked. Immediately. If Art or his dad saw a weed in the field, and they were wearing a suit, they would climb the fence, walk out in the field, and pick the weed. All in their suits. This apparently happened frequently, because if you know Art, he always wore a suit, even when at my family's lake cottages.
Arthur was very simple, and didn't desire amenities for the sake of having them. In particular, for the longest time none of their tractors had a cab on them--why do you need that added expense. Well, at one point they needed to get their tractor fixed, and so the tractor store lent them a tractor until they got the old one back. This new tractor had a cab. With air-conditioning. Sure enough, when he got off, a friend asked Art about the new tractor. His response? "You know, I think I might have to get me one of those."
While at Purdue in college, a long time ago, Art had a job at a Kroger. He got paid $3 a week. Rather, that's what he should have gotten paid, but he made a deal with his boss. Instead of the money, he received four boxes of candy bars. He then proceeded to go the frats, selling each candy bar for $.05. The end result? An income of $4.80, a meager return on his investment of 60%.
But, probably my favorite story...
Arthur, in his older years (he was in his mid-80s), learned how to send email. Well, kind of. Using eudora, he could read email and reply to email. He couldn't close an email, though. Eventually, after opening enough emails, the computer gives out, and Art would have to call over a guy from IWU to "fix" the computer. The computer guy didn't mind it, though--his grandfather grew up across the road from Art's family's farm, so he would fix the computer (click on the "x" a bunch of times) in 2 minutes and they would talk for the next 40. Well, Arthur felt bad about continuing to call him over, so one particular Saturday Arthur insisted on paying him for his effort. He helper refused, insisting that he enjoyed the trip and it was really no problem--no money was required. Arthur would not relent, though, and opened his billfold. Now, the worker got a little worried, because Arthur tended to keep a few hundreds in his wallet. Arthur immediately pulls out....$2. Two stinkin' singles. And asks, "Is that fair?" Chuckling to himself, the helper guy reiterates, saying "Really, anything you pay me is more than enough--it's not a problem at all." So Arthur took a buck back, and then insisted on the guy take it. He left Art's condo $1 richer. :)
So, in case you've made it through this essay (really a collection of short stories), I do have a question for you, and that is this: how bad of a fashion faux pas did I commit at the funeral? (I would like to add that it's really fun to use the word faux pas in a sentence) I forgot that dressing up for a funeral is not shirt and tie, like it normally is for me, but rather a suit. My suit was left in Terre Haute. So, while the other 5 pallbearers (two words? hyphened?) were all wearing black suits with white shirts, I was wearing a black shirt with gray slacks. I felt a little self-conscious, especially since my parents weren't present and so I was the eldest representative of my family (my younger brother was also there, in a black suit with a white shirt).
I think this post may crash the blogspot system...
Arthur came from an interesting family--they were very neat people. In particular, Arthur's mom made sure the driveway of the farm was always clean. The gravel driveway. She actually would sweep the driveway all the time. For instance, if someone was mowing the lawn, she followed the mower, making sure the grass clippings stayed off the driveway. Art's dad was just as fanatical about weeds in the field. If they saw a weed, it got picked. Immediately. If Art or his dad saw a weed in the field, and they were wearing a suit, they would climb the fence, walk out in the field, and pick the weed. All in their suits. This apparently happened frequently, because if you know Art, he always wore a suit, even when at my family's lake cottages.
Arthur was very simple, and didn't desire amenities for the sake of having them. In particular, for the longest time none of their tractors had a cab on them--why do you need that added expense. Well, at one point they needed to get their tractor fixed, and so the tractor store lent them a tractor until they got the old one back. This new tractor had a cab. With air-conditioning. Sure enough, when he got off, a friend asked Art about the new tractor. His response? "You know, I think I might have to get me one of those."
While at Purdue in college, a long time ago, Art had a job at a Kroger. He got paid $3 a week. Rather, that's what he should have gotten paid, but he made a deal with his boss. Instead of the money, he received four boxes of candy bars. He then proceeded to go the frats, selling each candy bar for $.05. The end result? An income of $4.80, a meager return on his investment of 60%.
But, probably my favorite story...
Arthur, in his older years (he was in his mid-80s), learned how to send email. Well, kind of. Using eudora, he could read email and reply to email. He couldn't close an email, though. Eventually, after opening enough emails, the computer gives out, and Art would have to call over a guy from IWU to "fix" the computer. The computer guy didn't mind it, though--his grandfather grew up across the road from Art's family's farm, so he would fix the computer (click on the "x" a bunch of times) in 2 minutes and they would talk for the next 40. Well, Arthur felt bad about continuing to call him over, so one particular Saturday Arthur insisted on paying him for his effort. He helper refused, insisting that he enjoyed the trip and it was really no problem--no money was required. Arthur would not relent, though, and opened his billfold. Now, the worker got a little worried, because Arthur tended to keep a few hundreds in his wallet. Arthur immediately pulls out....$2. Two stinkin' singles. And asks, "Is that fair?" Chuckling to himself, the helper guy reiterates, saying "Really, anything you pay me is more than enough--it's not a problem at all." So Arthur took a buck back, and then insisted on the guy take it. He left Art's condo $1 richer. :)
So, in case you've made it through this essay (really a collection of short stories), I do have a question for you, and that is this: how bad of a fashion faux pas did I commit at the funeral? (I would like to add that it's really fun to use the word faux pas in a sentence) I forgot that dressing up for a funeral is not shirt and tie, like it normally is for me, but rather a suit. My suit was left in Terre Haute. So, while the other 5 pallbearers (two words? hyphened?) were all wearing black suits with white shirts, I was wearing a black shirt with gray slacks. I felt a little self-conscious, especially since my parents weren't present and so I was the eldest representative of my family (my younger brother was also there, in a black suit with a white shirt).
I think this post may crash the blogspot system...
posted by spocktongue at 9:26 PM
1 Comments:
Does it count if I made it through your post but have already heard you tell those stories? :)
Well done on using "faux pas," I believe you were correct with "pallbearers," and you could have gone much longer without crashing blogspot. :)
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