Granny?
*Warning – may contain humour*


Some years ago when I was still with the ex-Mr Chickenlady his granny died – nice old lady, very much loved by all, well into her 90s when she went – all in all what we expect for a ‘good death’ so tears that she was gone from everyone but no real desperate regret and sadness.


So far so good…..

We all troop off to her funeral – I cry copiously as I do at all funerals (even if I see one on the TV I’ll cry, can’t help myself – in fact I watched a film the other night with Meg Ryan in it – she was her usual perky self until she ended up under a truck – I cried despite thinking it was a fitting end to the twee perky character she played). Went off to the wake – if you can call a few polite cucumber sandwiches and weak tea in the local pub a wake - everyone shared their stories of how lovely she was, what a wonderful gentle and genteel lady she was (she had always had ‘staff’ and in fact would probably have been secretly appalled that we gathered in the pub after her funeral).


Afterwards the ex and I went off up to Scotland to visit my relatives and life returned to normal albeit with a granny-sized hole which took a long while to begin to heal up even if it never actually healed over.


So where’s the dead body?


Well….about six weeks after she died I’d heard the ex’s parents talking about having a little ceremony to scatter the ashes in one of the pastures below the farm where her husband, grandfather, had also been scattered (after his death, obviously).
I’d filed this information away and expected a small gathering of the ex’s family to show up any weekend soon.

The day before an aunt was coming to stay I noticed a small blue velvet case sitting on the side in the farmhouse’s kitchen – it looked quite old and worn, the sort of thing which granny herself might have owned. I ran my finger over it – never have been able to resist velvet.

I’m also rather inquisitive although some describe it as just plain nosey.

I expect you can guess what’s coming…

I’m alone in the kitchen, the ex was out in a tractor, his parents (who lived in the large farmhouse) were both out of the house too. I wondered what was in this precious little blue velvet case. It had a slightly tarnished gold rim to it and my fingers ran along this rim as I fumbled to find the clasp so I could see what it held.

I opened it and looked straight at a fine powder of grey ash.

Granny.

I closed the case and was filled with guilt and a huge dollop of remorse – how could I have intruded upon the family’s grief like this?! Just to satisfy my curiosity – I was ashamed and resolved to keep this particular faux pas of mine entirely to myself.

A day or two later the case still sat in the kitchen, mocking me, pointing out my intrusive need to know every intimate secret that lay around me. Each time I went into the farmhouse for coffee during my break from either paperwork or the odd bit of tractor driving the blue velvet case with its gold tarnished rim stared at me, challenged me.

Eventually I could bear it no longer – the ex had wandered in and he, I and the case were alone in the kitchen – now was my chance to admit to my intrusiveness….

“Erm, you know this little blue case over here, what’s in it?”

“Oh that” replies the ex, “it’s an old handwarmer – you put these little fuel rods in them, light the rods and they burn slowly so just the ash is left.”

So not Granny then.

No.

One of these instead.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 20:52, 2 replies)

Consecrated waste disposal
A green wheelybin outside the church where a grandmother's funeral was held.

Big white cross painted on to the front.

On the lid, moulded into the plastic? The words 'NO HOT ASHES'.

We nearly pissed ourselves laughing.
(Happy Idiot Talk now has an alibi for, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 22:13, closed)

I have a couple of those

( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 1:16, closed)