We went to D H’s wife’s mother’s funeral today. I wanted to write something about it when I got home but I couldn’t find the program to even know her name. D said he slipped it in his suit coat pocket. Oh, great! Saved! So he put it out on the counter and I picked it up and set it by my computer. When I got ready to sit down and write, I opened the program and it was the funeral program for C S. How did that happen? I searched the rest of the afternoon for it. It had to be someplace. Where did I set it? Finally, as I was reading for a moment, it dawned on me that D pulled the wrong funeral program out of his pocket. He pulled C’s out. “Well, the other one is there because I remember putting it in my pocket,” he called. I checked every pocket in his suit jacket. Nothing but tissues. Then we figured out that he probably took C’s out and put it back in and we didn’t get home with D H’s wife’s mother’s funeral program at all. And it’s driving me crazy. I wanted to write about how her mother spelled her own name backwards to name her – but I don’t know how to spell her mother’s mother’s name so I can spell it backwards and know what her name was! This is the best I can do. . .
Today we went to the funeral of a 93-year-old woman, the mother of a neighbor. Her first name was Allez, her mother’s name, Zella, spelled backwards. Why didn’t we think of this? We could have a daughter named Ettenaej and a son named Yared. Cool. We could say the daughter was Scandinavian or even French and the son, Jewish. And the best part, no one in the class would have the same name!
(As mysteriously as it disappeared, Allez's funeral program appeared right in plain sight. I was spelling it Annez thinking her mother's name was Zenna but her name was Allez and her mother's name was Zella.)
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