by Mullen, Jim
People say funerals make you think about your own mortality, but what they really make you think about is other people’s mortality.
“I thought Ed looked good. For being on chemo. You can hardly tell that’s a wig.”
“I didn’t know Shirley was still alive. How old is she now? A hundred and eight?”
We drank like underage college kids on Spring Break in Cancun. Hey, we’re in mourning; what’s their excuse? It was so much fun that many of us are hoping someone else dies soon so we can do it again. But next time we’ll do a few things differently.
Next time we’ll get a hotel room. We tried but you know how relatives are—they get all huffy and offended if you don’t stay with them. It’s worse than fighting over the check at a restaurant.
“Stay in a hotel? What’s wrong with you? You’ll stay with us, we won’t hear of anything else.” Big mistake.
You don’t have to leave the bathroom the way you found it in a hotel. You can let the water run. You don’t get scalded when you’re in the shower and someone on the other side of the house flushes a toilet. You don’t have to make the bed in a hotel. You can stay up till all hours and watch any channel on TV you want, and not just the Weather Channel.
Nieces and nephews won’t wake you up at 6 a.m. in a hotel. Coughing, hacking, runny-nosed, grabby, touchy little nieces and nephews. They’ve just given me every disease that’s going around second grade this week. It’s no longer the common cold. It’s mutated into something that’s a cross between ebola and the plague. “That’s what probably carried their Grandpa off in the first place,” I think (but don’t say).
You can order room service in a hotel. Somehow I can’t see my sister-in-law wheeling a cart down to our room every morning filled with Eggs Benedict and double lattes. Besides, she’s busy making food for the wake.
Let’s see, we’ve had a memorial, a church service, a viewing, a sitting, a luncheon, and a dinner. She’s now making something to take to the wake. All the relatives that haven’t yet moved to Florida are making something that two hundred-plus people can nibble on: ribs, hams, sausages, pastries, pies, and cakes. Not a vegetable in sight.
“It’s comfort food,” says Sue. Yes, a comfort to the pharmaceutical industry. Three days of that and I’m about to die myself. Invest in whoever makes defibrillators.
No matter what they say, rent a car. “What do you need to rent a car for? You’re only going to be in town a few days. We’ll pick you up at the airport. We’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” Big mistake. I’d like to go antiquing. I’d like to go golfing. I’d like to go see the Will Ferrell movie where he prances around in his underwear. Any of them. But you can hardly ask the bereaved to run you over to the multi-plex while they’re in mourning. Yet if we had stayed in a hotel and rented a car, who would be the wiser? Instead we sit at some relatives’ hushed home, stare at each other and say things like, “It’s sad that the only time we get together like this is when someone dies,” when we really want to say “It’d be sadder if they didn’t get together. If no friends and family got together at your funeral; if no one laughed about the silly things you did when you were alive, if they didn’t remember your practical jokes, if they didn’t relish rehashing your most embarrassing moments, that would be sad. Hell, I’d rather go to a funeral.”
Happy Holidays from the Fergusons
Dear Friends and Family,
Happy Holidays! If you’re saying to yourself, “That doesn’t look like a picture of the Fergusons on the front of the card,” you’re right. There was a bit of a mix-up down at the photo store but it was too late to have the cards done over. As you know, Bob and I only have two kids, not four, and neither of us have ever been skiing but other than that, it’s not a bad picture. And we got them for half-price, which is a good deal because we’ve had to watch our pennies ever since Bob got downsized. But we still wonder: who’s sending out our pictures this holiday?
Sorry we haven’t written sooner but neither of us has been in much shape to write this year. I donated a kidney to my brother-in-law Joe but he rejected it. It turns out he needed a liver. I always get those two mixed up. Liver, kidney, kidney, liver, what’s the big difference? We had a good laugh about it and I’m happy to say that Joe died with a smile on his face. Sometimes laughter is the best medicine.
Josh and Amber both got into the community college. Josh is majoring in Body Piercing and Amber is waffling between Assistant Nail Technician or Tattoo Artist. As you know, there were times when I thought they’d never get out of high school. I kept telling them and telling them, “If you don’t get good grades you’re not going to amount to anything.” They’re glad I nagged them now.
Bob’s dad only has to wear the ankle restraint for another three months and then he’s off house arrest. He still swears he has no idea what happened to the church’s money and that he’s just the fall guy. He’s already planning a nice long vacation in the Cayman Islands as soon as he gets out.
Bob’s working at the Big Pig BBQ until another “employment opportunity” comes along. The manager is pretty happy with his work because he says a lot of times older people aren’t quick enough to work in the fast-food business. Funny, I never thought forty-six was all that old. Yet even at his advanced age, he thinks they may make him afternoon grill manager.
It seems my job as a grief counselor isn’t recession-proof either. After their first consultation with me, more and more people find they have the courage to face this most difficult time alone. When they leave my office almost all of them thank me and say, “You’ve made me realize that it could be worse. Much, much worse.” I guess you can say I’m doing God’s work.
Bob’s mother is living with us now and it’s like having an extra pair of helping hands every day. She’s too frail to actually do anything, but she does what she can to motivate people. “Who taught you how to do dishes?” she might say, or “You call that a pie crust?” The kids just love her. If she forgets to say, “Are you going out looking like that?” when they leave the house they feel neglected. Everyone loves her, she’s such a people person.
We don’t hang stockings over the Yule Log anymore since the accident last year. Who knew a sock could burn like that? Not Fluffy, that’s for sure. Most of her fur has grown back but she still won’t sleep on the mantel like she used to. That’s about it for us, but here’s wishing you’ll have as happy a holiday as we will this year.
—The Fergusons
Bride or Groom’s Side of the Story
Sue and I have stopped going to wedding receptions. We got tired of sitting in front of the speakers. The bride and groom seem to think we’ve made some special request to be deafened by the band. It’s always so loud we can’t speak to each other, much less the other guests. We sit and smile and nod while the bride’s father is talking to us. “Ain’t that the truth,” “I know what you mean,” and “You can say that again,” we say over and over because we cannot hear a word he’s saying. The only thing we have to go on is the expression on his face. For all we know, he is complaining about the loud music, too. The music is not just loud, it’s bad. It has been picked especially to annoy me. I wouldn’t like this crap at a normal volume. Now that it’s making my hair blow in the breeze from the speakers I really hate it. I don’t know what message the happy couple thinks they are sending us, but the message I’m receiving is “Give us an expensive present and get the hell out. My parents made me invite you. They said you might be good for a cappuccino machine.”
Which brings up another sore point. We may stop giving presents, too. When we were still going to weddings there was always the slim chance that the happy couple might still be married by the next time we saw them, say a few weeks later at the baby shower. No more. More than once we have gotten an invitation to the second wedding before we have gotten a “Thank You” note for the first. We will run into the bride’s parents at the grocery store and find out that the first husband’s gone, she’s got two kids under two and
they are in an expensive custody battle over his frozen sperm. He never spent any time with the kids when they were married, which is why they’re getting divorced (that, and his new girlfriend). Now he’s suing for full and complete custody; he can’t bear to be away from the little dears for a single moment. “And by the way, she really likes the cappuccino machine you gave them. She’s just a little late with the ‘thank you’ notes. She’s been so busy going to all her girlfriends’ second weddings, don’t you know. She can’t wait to see you at her next wedding, though. This time she’s registered at Jacoby and Meyers. And she wants you to know they’ve hired a really good local band, Thunder and Lightning. It’s the only group in the tri-state region with two drummers.”
It also annoys us that getting a wedding invitation is like getting a bill for something you didn’t buy and don’t want.
“We got an invitation to Jyoti and Chad’s wedding. It says, ‘Please save the date—December 24th.’”
“Gee, what could that conflict with?”
“It will be on Anguilla with the reception to follow.”
“Why don’t they just send us a card that says, ‘We don’t want you at our wedding, but we would like you to send an expensive gift. Getting married in Anguilla isn’t cheap.’”
Not that we would have gone if Jyoti and Chad’s wedding was being held next door. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that Sue and I have decided never to go to another wedding as long as we both shall live. Maybe the banns of marriage should ban marriage.
Newspapers are partly to blame. Every week they print wedding announcements that tell what the bride wore, where it took place, the name of the officiant, what the bridegroom does, who their parents are and what they do. It all sounds so wonderful—who wouldn’t want to get married? But what if the newspaper made all newlyweds agree to publish a “Marriage Update” every five years or so? Something like this would surely be more effective:
MILFORD — TROUT
Jenny Milford, daughter of Sally and John Milford of Middletown, and Everly Trout, son of Elma and Vernon Trout of Littleville were married in June 2006.
“Why she wanted a big church wedding I’ll never know,” said her soon-to-be-ex-mother-in-law. “As far as we know that was the first and last time she’s been in a church. I told Everly he was too young, but who ever listens to me?”
Jenny Trout says she was never so happy in her life—for about the first year and a half.
“Then, while I’m pregnant with the second baby Everly started staying out every night drinking with his old high school buddies. If he wants to be single, fine. Go be single. Go marry one of your floozies and make her life miserable.”
The Trouts have two children, Verna and Mava, and are still paying for their honeymoon cruise to the Bahamas.
The Hiltons’ Guide to Raising Children
Raising happy, well-adjusted children isn’t easy. You’ll have some sleepless nights, but in the end, remember, if you do it right, you’ll be the first people they call for bail.
Hire the Right Nanny
A lot of people think a nanny should be trained in child psychology, nursing, and nutrition. But we found that a pretty blond with big boobs works just as well, even if she can’t speak English. It keeps dad happy and when he’s happy, everybody’s happy.
Tough Love
Children are always testing you. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. That’s why it’s so important to put your foot down. But you have to be creative, you have to make the punishment fit the crime. Once, we told Paris that we’d fire her maid if she wouldn’t let her in to clean her room. And we did, too. Paris cried for almost five minutes but she learned a big lesson. Which is: don’t become too attached to the help.
Self-Esteem
Give your child a unique name, something that is hers alone. Like naming her after the city where she was conceived. There’s nothing quite like the look on an eleven-year-old’s face when she figures out how she got her name. There’s nothing like the emotions that will run through you the first time you hear your child say, “Ewww, that’s so gross! What if my friends find out?” Priceless.
Set Limits
We suggest three or four million dollars a year. If you give children more than that, they’ll think money grows on trees when we all know it really comes from grand-daddy.
Respect Your Children’s Privacy
Don’t go snooping around Face Book trying to find sex videos starring your children. Those videos are extremely private and meant only for their three or four million closest friends. Looking at them means you are no better than the stalkers, strangers, the Russian mafia and lonely men on oil-drilling platforms who have already seen them.
Emphasize the Value of an Education
Explain to your children that if they don’t learn math, they might accidentally over tip. If they don’t study geography, they’ll never know the difference between a vacation in Capri and one in Majorca. If they don’t study history, they won’t know how Columbus discovered Plymouth Rock.
Communication
Communication between parents and children is crucial. Many problems are caused by simple misunderstandings. Whenever we’re going to be globe-hopping for more than a couple of months, we almost always leave the kids a note on the fridge door. “See you next March,” or something like that so they’ll know how much we care.
Set Boundaries
Your rules may be different, but we always make sure that the Middle East and North Korea are “off limits” for our children unless they’re with someone we know or with someone who’s really famous.
Know Their Friends
Are your children hanging around with the wrong crowd, picking up bad habits? All too often we run into parents who don’t realize that a child’s friends have more influence on them than their parents do. All our children’s friends have been to the best drug and alcohol rehab centers in the country. They are top notch. It just makes common sense—they’re our children, we owe them the very best.
Pick Your Battles
Does every conversation with your child turn into a fight? Why not do what we do? Go shopping. In Milan. Or Tokyo. There’s nothing like a spending spree to cheer everyone up. Or go to a spa together for a week or two. Take a break from all life’s little ups and downs.
Discipline
Sometimes, you have to lay down the law. Which is why we have a lawyer on retainer just for that reason. We call him whenever the children misbehave and he gives them a good talking-to. Then we send them to the house in Cabo to let them think about what they’ve done.
Is Food Good for You?
On the nightly news last night—in the middle of the constipation, heartburn, erectile dysfunction, high blood pressure, diabetes, and arthritis remedy ads—there was a story that claimed eating vegetables might be the cure for constipation, heartburn, erectile dysfunction, high blood pressure, and diabetes. Some government agency released a report that said eating vegetables may increase my heart function, improve my digestion, lower my risk of getting cancer, and let me stay healthier longer.
How do they allow such quackery on television without even a disclaimer at the end explaining the pitfalls of eating vegetables? Where’s the “May cause flatulence, loss of body fat, regular bowel movements, increase in energy and sweet, baby-sweet breath” warning at the end? They didn’t even say that I should contact my doctor before starting to eat a diet that includes vegetables or that pregnant women should consult their physicians before eating vegetables. Is that legal? Have vegetables gotten FDA approval? Has there been any lab testing on them? I’ve been to my pharmacy a thousand times for heart medicine and blood pressure medicine and I’ve never once seen any vegetables on the shelf. But get this—you can buy them over the counter at practically any grocery store! You don’t even need a prescription.
It’s all part of Big Farma’s diabolical plan to wean us off drugs and pills and make us eat roughage and unprocessed food. They use a thousand sm
army marketing tricks to get our kids hooked on vegetables. They grow vegetables in a lot of different flavors, like children’s vitamins, just to make them taste good. What a cheap and sleazy ploy that is. Thankfully, most people don’t fall for it.
And what are the dangerous side effects of eating vegetables? We’ll never know. Why? Because there are there no nutrition labels on vegetables! How many calories do they contain? How much trans-fat? How much sodium? They don’t tell us; there’s no nutrition label on a tomato. What are they trying to hide? When I take a fistful of pills, I don’t have to worry about counting calories. Are vegetables deadly? Some reports say that if you eat fifty pounds of carrots a day it will kill you, yet they let school kids eat them.
Most important, where do vegetables come from? Are they made in big, clean sanitary factories like my heartburn medicine? Are they made in giant, government-inspected facilities like my constipation medicine? No, they are not. Most people would be surprised to learn the unbelievable truth—that almost all vegetables come from filthy, dirt-covered fields! Dirty, dirty, dirty places called farms. Some of them, like potatoes, are even buried in the dirt. You don’t even want to know what some of Big Farma’s farmers spread on their fields to help them “grow” their vegetables.
Many vegetables are crawling with insects. If you can believe this, it’s how many of them are “fertilized.” It’s disgusting and yet it doesn’t prevent Big Farma from making dubious health claims about them.
What are their interactions with real medicines? What are the risks involved? Is it OK to eat vegetables if you have high blood pressure? Diabetes? Heartburn? Are vegetables covered by your medical insurance? No. You have to bear the entire cost of your vegetables. One hundred percent. If they were beneficial, wouldn’t your insurance company pay for them? And how do vegetables get to market without going through the same rigorous, double-blind testing that got us Zetia, Vioxx and fen-phen? Would you let your family eat a bunch of untested, untried vegetables? Do you want to be the guinea pig for that?