It's rare that one attends David Afelskie's funeral with David Afelskie also standing at one's side. But there happens to be at least one other David Afelskie in this world other than the one who shares my civic address. I suppose it's arguable as to whether or not he is in this world, as we did attend his funeral this morning and I am unacquainted with the finer points of theology. No matter, he was once in this world, he is now in an unknown destination and we did pray for his soul this morning. The David Afelskie who died was the former fire chief for our local area and an honour guard of firefighters accompanied by trucks and sirens accompanied his body to the church. He was cremated, so it was somewhat anticlimactic to see what could have been a child's treasure box containing the earthly remains of a full-grown man. There were jokes about him possibly preferring a downstairs destination as he could still fight fires. All the more reason to pray.
Outside of Sunday mass I have little opportunity to dress up. Consequently, a funeral is one of those opportunities. I was tired this morning and didn't actually feel like putting much effort into the clothing arena. It was more a day to leave on one's bulky winter coat and blame winter. However, I attempted a rise above my mood and put in some effort. When it comes to dress clothes, I have very few options. Summer dresses worn with a cardigan pretending to acclimatize to the new season? Too-tight pencil skirt that leaves no question to how many children this tired body has born? Or a last ditch chance that the same long polka-dot dress that I had worn to my dad's summer funeral could possibly be paired with a black turtleneck? The fashion stars aligned and the combination worked. I was left with a modicum of satisfaction and a winter coat that could indeed be removed.
As we hurried out the door, I rushed back in and quickly put on a skirt slip so as to avoid static cling. I had once made the mistake of not wearing a slip to the ordination of a priest. I spent the entire time either in the bathroom applying water to my nylons or trying not to move out of a seated position. A fellow attendee told me that the problem could easily be resolved by removing the dress. I was mildly surprised by the amount of testosterone he was willing to display. The priest whose ordination we attended has also since left the priesthood and married a man. I am torn as to whether or not his decision to leave the priesthood can be attributed to my slip decision. Anyway. The slip decision proved my fatal error in both instances.
Today was also the same day as the Santa Claus parade - a mere two hours after the start of the funeral in the same tiny village as the funeral and on the same route as the hearse. Our kids were hoping to attend the parade and so Dave and I made the fortunate decision to exit the church by a seldom used side door so as to avoid the crush on the way to the cemetery. I am only happy that my slip proved a wise old slip and chose an appropriate moment to make it's sudden move. As we walked out the side door, I felt an odd swoosh move down my nylons and stop at my ankles. My slip (all of 17 years old - I do recall wearing it during Ben's pregnancy) chose wisely and decided that it's inevitable downward slide would unexpectedly pick up speed just as we crossed the threshold of church to parking lot. Thankfully we were alone. I stepped lightly out of it, picked it up, folded it nonchalantly and placed it under my arm. When we arrived home, I threw it on my head and told the kids that the decidedly novus-ordo deceased had made a dramatic decision to have his funeral celebrated in the old rite. Thank God I had thought to bring a mantilla.
