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Friday was that day where the battle between immune system and head cold used up all my mental cycles, though fortunately both the Megatherium and I seem to be on the very minor symptomatic end of this one. Saturday was the memorial service, which went extremely well, but speaking of things that require mental processing time. And then yesterday the Megatherium started eating ALL THE FOOD!!! for her six month growth spurt. We're still winding down from that (I think...) but I'm just waiting to see what brain-fogging thing is going to come up next.
Anyway, the memorial service was really well attended-- standing room only-- with people from all and sundry things my father was involved with, from fellow submarine officers to fellow trombone players from the community band. (We got an anecdote about learning from my father to play with enthusiasm all the notes on the page, even if they happened to be flute cues.) And it was deeply weird to be in a room full of friends of my father, at least half of whom I'd never met, but most of whom I'd heard of. Sort of like going to a party with half the characters out of greek mythology, most of whom know more or less who you are, but they're mostly busy talking to each other while you're trying to remember if this is the one who had all the eyes or the one who caught the pegasus and haven't really anything else to say to them anyway, and besides, you're holding a baby, so 80% of the conversations you end up having are about how good she's being.
I also think about the difference between this and my grandmother's funeral where after two rounds (in Cleveland, and then again in Alpine, TX after they retired there) of more socializing and worthy volunteer work than most people ever get around to, only a small handful of family made it to the funeral in VA. If my father had lasted another twenty-five years, many of the people who came this weekend wouldn't still have been around either. But you just can't start thinking phrases like "If I could have chosen..." because, well, you can't.
Possibly more later, but at present I think I need to go back to feeding my excellent baby before she tries to consume this chair. Um.
Anyway, the memorial service was really well attended-- standing room only-- with people from all and sundry things my father was involved with, from fellow submarine officers to fellow trombone players from the community band. (We got an anecdote about learning from my father to play with enthusiasm all the notes on the page, even if they happened to be flute cues.) And it was deeply weird to be in a room full of friends of my father, at least half of whom I'd never met, but most of whom I'd heard of. Sort of like going to a party with half the characters out of greek mythology, most of whom know more or less who you are, but they're mostly busy talking to each other while you're trying to remember if this is the one who had all the eyes or the one who caught the pegasus and haven't really anything else to say to them anyway, and besides, you're holding a baby, so 80% of the conversations you end up having are about how good she's being.
I also think about the difference between this and my grandmother's funeral where after two rounds (in Cleveland, and then again in Alpine, TX after they retired there) of more socializing and worthy volunteer work than most people ever get around to, only a small handful of family made it to the funeral in VA. If my father had lasted another twenty-five years, many of the people who came this weekend wouldn't still have been around either. But you just can't start thinking phrases like "If I could have chosen..." because, well, you can't.
Possibly more later, but at present I think I need to go back to feeding my excellent baby before she tries to consume this chair. Um.