An Empty Box and other stories

I went to a funeral at a local church yesterday. There were a hundred people in attendance, all masked and distanced, but I will be monitoring for symptoms over the next week or so. The church has a capacity of 400 and under normal circumstances would have been overflowing. We have no active cases in our health region (the seven counties of the southwestern end of this province) but there would have been a few people there from The City, where Covid is active.

The funeral was for Neil Price, who was 104 when he died. He was a well-known figure locally and I have known him personally for 45 years, as the father of a close friend. The funeral was an uplifting event, he was a wonderful man who lived a very long and full life. Music was provided by Sarah Pound, Neil's daughter Heather, and Marcel d'Entremont. When I used to sing with the Baptist Church choir, I sat next to Marcel and his amazing tenor voice was quite intimidating so I sang very quietly. Neil's three daughters and one granddaughter gave eulogies. One of the anecdotes told was of Neil telling bedtime stories to his various children and grandchildren. One infamous story was The Empty Box:

Once upon a time there was an empty box.

.

.

.

There was nothing in it.

He wrote two memoirs, I helped edit the first one and he gave me a copy when it was published, Flashbacks and Slapshots (he was an avid hockey player in his day). Among other things I learned that he was once friends with Grey Owl. The second memoir was completed when he was 102, I've read bits of it but not all. It's called Just Wondering and is much more philosophical than the first one. For a longtime Baptist minister he was very open-minded and curious about many things.

Here's a story about a New Year's Eve visit with Neil eight years ago: Lang may yer lum reek.

He died peacefully, lucid and cheerful until the very end. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hapi has adapted to her new almost-hairless regime. She has become an indoor dog, which is nice for me. I enjoy petting her without her old fur coat, I feel the warmth of her body which was formerly hidden. She has taken over my bedroom as her new den. She is happy to go for walks in her new colourful coat, and I wear a matching black parka and fuschia beret. We are locally famous for our amazing fashion sense.