Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

With my remaining family at the memorial? That’s fate. The Fates and the Furies. The remnants? That’s what we must all solve for, the unknown in this equation (cf., i.e., previous.)

Bookends with brothers on either side, my mother is a middle child. The oldest brother moved to Seattle then settled a little further north and west. From there, I have four cousins, and two of them passed within weeks of each other, or rather, I got notified within days of each passing, late last summer.

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

While the town of Port Angeles has a remarkable comfy feeling? It is a tiny hamlet, less than 20K maybe? The sun had set long before we made our way onto the peninsula, bringing up distant memories of a similar trip, the narrow, two-lane highway bordered by tall pines and firs, and on this trip over, an achingly clear sky. Stars overhead, Jupiter and Mars predominate. Around Puget Sound, and over the Hood Canal Floating Bridge. Gas, in my neighborhood? Under $3 ($2.89/gallon, cash/credit) and at the moment, over $5 ($4.99 cash) from what I saw. $5 gas and more legal weed shops, be a wonderful place if it wasn’t so frightfully cold.

No room for politics, though, as this was a memorial service for two cousins, passing scant weeks apart, and separated by years, and split with another sibling.

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

Mt Rainier

Mt Rainier

Part of the familial Southern Gothic Tradition(tm) means grief is carefully curated with cursory comestibles. Food. Heaping platters of sweat meats, grocery store plastics with vegetables and ranch dressing, the usual accoutrements of ritualistic grieving. Baptist bring a covered dish, Methodists show up with a dessert, and the Catholics bring a bottle? Might have that wrong; memories have faded.

For me and the cousins, though we met at a tiny restaurant in the basement of the old Country Aire building. At one time or another, both broccoli and brussel sprouts have been proclaimed the new superfood, the one ingredient to make us live longer.

At my age and station life? If I don’t want to eat either of those? I don’t.

So, at PA’s newly minted Sapor, which used to be Micheal’s, we met and dined fabulously. Fresh black cod from Nehi Bay, locally sourced veggies and salad mixture, the menu items go in. It was delightful. But no broccoli or sprouts for me. Salad with a black garlic dressing. No vampires despite the proximity to Forks, WA.

Best was two hours of uninterrupted conversation, waxing and waning years, family stories, and the dawning realization that inherited Southern Gothic carries forward.

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

The memorial service itself was subdued, but most memorials are. While we heard a version of the story the night before, my cousin’s version of “Stoping the Space Needle,” and its subsequent musical notations rounded the event.

We heard the tale the eve in before, in an abbreviated format and the earlier conclusion wasn’t as neatly sewn up.

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

Again, “We make peace with the dead through the living.”

Funerals and Memorials, pt. 2

  • Aperture: ƒ/1.6
  • Camera: iPhone 12
  • Flash fired: no
  • Focal length: 4.2mm
  • ISO: 32
  • Shutter speed: 1/2681s

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