july 26, 2000.

The fabulous thing about being canned is that when you have to do extraordinary things, you have the time to do them and not go crazy. Case in point: Monday night at 9 p.m., I got a call from Dirk. Sketchy details about the funeral of Agamemnon's father had been gleamed from Poet, and Tymothi:J was at that minute tracking down info on the internet. The question was: if they could find out the place and time, would I go?

Lawyer only taught me one significant thing: you always make time for your friends on special occasions. All of those birthdays when I shoved aside projects & plans were now but a rehearsal for this day. Would I go? Did I have any choice?

Of course I did. I chose to go. I didn't want to get up early, I didn't want to push back plans with my mother and I especially didn't want to spend 7 hours in the car. My parents just about went nuts when I told them that I was leaving, and they made it as tense as possible during the hour wait for pick up. So I was not in a terribly good mood as I pushed my garment bag into the backseat along with To Kill A Mockingbird, Best of Bizarro and my little Jayna. Not happy at all. But even at 8 a.m. on the way to a funeral in Southern Ontario, Dirk & Tymothi:J know how to have a good time. I was, in fact, ashamed of how much fun I had on the way down. We stopped at a Lebanese shrine & committed countless sacrilegious acts...i.e. we hopped the fence to a cone-shaped tower topped by an enormous Mary and posed irreverently in front of the 14 stations of the cross, taking pictures as we went. Then, with one hour to before the funeral, we saw the sign that changed everything:

"Appearing 11-1 today, Bobby Orr."

We had to stop. We just had to. We made a solemn vow to one another not to tell Agamemnon about this little detour, and joined the line of jocks in the dealership parking lot. To kill some time, I ran off to the bathroom, changing out of my overalls and pink Powerpuff Girls t-shirt into grey & black funeral clothes. I got back just in time to watch the last guy in front of us shove memorabilia into the hands of Bobby. Mr. Orr did not look like he was having a good time. That is, until he looked up & saw me.

"Hello!"

I swear to God, Bobby Orr checked me out. I have witnesses.

Dirk is of the opinion that he was happy to chat pleasantly with someone who just wanted a picture and a handshake. Honestly, for all that I am Canadian, I don't give a fuck about hockey. This was just fun, an incidental joyride on the way elsewhere, and it was infectious. We left with a signed photo for the Boy and one hell of a secret.

* * *

The funeral was beautiful. I've never known Agamemnon to give bad church, but this was understandably more moving than usual. He managed to find a text and a theme that was both absolutely appropriate to the character of his father and quite Christian. That isn't easy, folks. Think about how many times you've experienced such a thing.

In between the funeral and the reception, we went for ice cream by the shores of Lake Erie and I called my mother. It was a ridiculously beautiful day and I can't pretend that it was wasted on me. By the time we'd made it to the reception, our spirits had risen to vacation level once more - which isn't, I suppose, de rigeur for a funeral tea, but there you have it. The afternoon passed in a gorgeous windy froth of talking and smiling and sharing silence in the presence of the water. I can't help but hope that my passing is marked by as much beauty and friendship as was in that back yard.

* * *

The evening and today's morning passed as you might expect it to: we drank for hours, laughed until we cried, ate hugely, tortured our poor waitress before leaving a massive tip, and soaked up each other's presence. Dirk and Tymothi:J spent the night sleeping outdoors; not because they were being macho, but because at heart they are romantic lunatics. By 10 a.m., I'd seen the 6th naked man of my experience, as Tymothi:J surfaced from his dip in the lake unexpectedly au naturel. Aphrodite emerging from the waves, recast as a hairy former football player from Illinois. One for the books, that's for sure.

By 11 a.m., Dirk discovered that the underwear he'd bought in a hopeful spirit was too small. It was at this point that I donned my first pair of men's briefs. Interesting...I kind of felt like I was wearing one of those Victorian bathing costumes to protect my dignity. When I got home, my parents didn't even bat an eye. I guess you can only push them so far before if begins to seem normal...

< to * fro >


diary * me * who * mail