Theory 17: Funerals are better than weddings, for guests, especially in the South.

Disclaimer: Like you, I hate to say goodbye to people I love. Death may be natural but it is also tragic, unsettling, and sometimes so awful that the pain for those left behind is other-worldly in its scope. I know grief. We all know grief. This post is not meant to poke fun of death, dying, or grieving, so literal readers, please back off the keyboards until you read the whole article and forgive me as I figuratively walk down the aisle through the valley of the shadow of death.

Woody Allen is often quoted as saying, “I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” Amen, Woody. I was not afraid to get married. I just didn’t want to be there when it happened. I’m not a delicate flower of the south. I am feminine and I try to be ladylike, but I’m not into table-setting, flower-aranging, dish-shopping, or party-planning. Tall Child was raised in church, a country club, and private schools. He is a modern Southern Gentleman. After he proposed, I pleaded, “Let’s get married at the beach by ourselves on our honeymoon and come back and throw a big backyard barbeque blowout with a band.” (I like simplification and alliteration.) Tall Child retorted, “No way, Bug! This is your first wedding.”

First?

What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?

I’ve suffered from anxiety issues since my father’s premature death (he was 44, I was 19) and I hate to be forced into formal situations. I don’t mind being the center of attention and I enjoy speaking in public, where I set the tone for my talking. But, weddings put so much pressure on the bride to be perfect and formal and skinny. I am none of those. Tall Child proposed on a Friday. I called the church on Monday and asked the preacher for his first open Saturday morning (cheaper, simpler, quicker) wedding slot. Check! I called my employer’s caterer and asked him to fax me his wedding menu. I circled what I wanted and faxed it back. Check! The next weekend, Delicious and I went to the mall to register for china. I chose inexpensive dishes from the backlit floor-to-ceiling shelves in the home department. I walked up to the registry clerk and said, “I need to complete a bridal registry.” She asked, “Do you have an appointment?” I said, “No ma’am. I don’t need one.” I gave her the names of the every day and formal patterns and asked her to “put me down” for 12 place settings of each and add white towels (any brand) so I could Clorox them clean. Check! My mother-in-law, the ultimate Southern hostess, asked me “Did you at least register for a coffee maker?” I said, “No ma’am, I don’t drink coffee.” I was madly in love with Tall Child. I was absolutely ready to be a wife, but I had no talent (or interest) in being a bride. The night before our wedding, I slept ZERO hours. After eight hours of nervous twitching, I took a shower, slapped on my grocery store make-up, and headed to the big city of Knoxville to get married. I made Delicious whip me through Burger King for some Cini Mini’s. At the church, I put on my lovely and wonderfully borrowed wedding dress, popped ½ a Klonopin from Delicious’s jeweled wedding handbag, and got myself hitched. Checkmate! Better yet: Check! Mate!

Here’s my take on how funerals are better than weddings, for the guests, particularly in the South, by category, particularly for my particular self. Categories are disturbingly parallel, aren’t they?

Planning:

Weddings: Weddings plans can take a long time, depending on the wedding couple’s families, social status, connections, and wealth. All that time is a petri dish for rapid growth of stress cooties, cash cooties, and gossip cooties (all of which multiply exponentially). Oh, and a major “reconsider” and breakup. Think movies: The Notebook, Sweet Home Alabama, Runaway Bride …. Married ladies, don’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind.

Funerals: Well, there’s no time to break up with anyone. Funeral plans are last minute, quick, routine, and handled by the wedding planner, I mean, funeral director. The funeral directors I know pray with families. Wedding planners probably should.

Dress Code

Weddings: Etiquette dictates that we follow the dress code. Wedding dress code varies and can be quite confusing. What is “dressy casual”? Capris with chandelier earrings? Guest outfits for weddings are so dang confusing. And, for the bridal party, a major source of stress. Dying shoes – can you believe that still goes on? And, for some of us, bras are NOT optional. Brides fret and fantasize about wedding dresses. There’s so much drama around dress selection that a hit TV show was born – “Say Yes to the Dress.”

Look, we’ve all known a bridezilla but who has ever encountered a widowzilla?

Funerals: I’ve been to fancy memorial services and country graveside funerals. I can honestly say I never gave any thought to what folks wore, nor did I really notice. I’ve seen black suits and hats and I’ve seen overalls. Most importantly, I’ve seen a physical demonstration of respect.

Food

Weddings: God forbid the chicken tenders with honey mustard get cold. There’s nothing worse than a dry cake. Brides and their mothers strategize over foods, placement, display, temperature, cost, quantity, presentation, and more regarding food. And, there’s the whole “don’t eat until the bride and groom do” conundrum. I am always amazed at how humans line up for food no matter what time of day it is. I don’t normally eat at 3:00 pm, but if I’m at a wedding or a funeral, I get so hungry!

Funerals: No offense to my catering friends, but the best buffet in the world can be found at a country church in the sticks. When my precious great aunt, known as Big Chick, passed away, we loaded up and headed to a Baptist Church in Georgia. The church is so old there are Confederate graves in the adjacent cemetery. Those church ladies put on a feast that I can still taste. Chicken casseroles, cornbread, fried corn, tomato salad, green beans soaked and simmered for hours in salt, butter, and bacon grease, strawberry cake and banana pudding, and on and on and on. What a comfort they and their food were to all of us. A groom’s cake in the shape of a deer rifle could never compare to that spread.

Diets

Weddings: Are you kidding? “Save the Date” cards keep Weight Watchers in business.

Funerals: Who cares? See “Food” above.

Party Atmosphere

Weddings: I’ve enjoyed some hysterical late night shuttles back to hotels. Thanks, “Dot” and “Boone” and friends! But, boy, did I wake up with a headache from all that, um, cake! I’ve also seen bloody jaws, flying furniture, teetering groomsmen and some moving karaoke duets. Tall Child, that Tim McGraw-Faith Hill duet was one of our greatest accomplishments as a couple.

Funerals: Presence is more important than presents. Honor takes the place of debauchery. No hangover, well, usually, follows. I’ve not seen a physical fight around a funeral. In the South, when the grieving family and friends follow the hearse to the graveyard in a long, slow, sad caravan of caution lights and little white flags, other vehicles  pull over and stop. Completely. What respect. Also, the well-earned military salute, trumpeted “Taps,” and handing of a folded American flag to a widow always put country, faith, and family in perspective.

Post Party/Mortem Critique (What we hear/say) What? No, not me, uhhhhther people say this stuff. I just hear it.

Weddings: Oh, the ride home is the best part. As in, “What did ya’ll think about the food,” “Can you believe how his brother behaved,” “Were those bridesmaids dresses not the tackiest things you’ve ever seen,” and “That food was awful, ya’ll. Drive through the Krystal. There ain’t nothin’ worse than bein’ hung over in the morning with a baby to take care of.”

Funerals: We say and hear, “He was such a good man,” “What a beautiful service,” “She was one of those people that everybody liked,” and “We need to take them a casserole this week.” 

Faith: I’m keeping this one simple. And, gulp.

Weddings: Often glorify the couple.

Funerals: Honor the dead and their survivors, glorify God, and reaffirm faith.

I figure this post may stir up some controversy. That’s okay. Just remember, if I’ve perturbed you, ask an abstract thinker for help. My intention is to make you consider ordinary things in an unexpected way – like other people, which brings me to Theory 18: Blind dates are the best dates EVER!

See you next post! Until then, think outside the barn.

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Theory 16: People erroneously think they can do other people’s jobs.

He never failed. I bumped down interstates for four seasons of SEC football with The University of Tennessee Pride of the Southland Band. Every time we passed a pasture of grazing cows (which are numerous in the SEC), this goofy brass player would say, “Why, those cows are outstanding in their field.”  Animals don’t trip. Animals know their roles. People, we hope, are working in professions they enjoy. All jobs require training. There is a certain process that ensures more efficient ditch-digging, just as collegiate and graduate coursework, clinicals, and residencies prepare surgeons. But, for some odd reason, many people think they can do other people’s jobs.

Perhaps this is an American phenomenon. We pride ourselves on independence and individual success. We are critical of procedural accuracy (especially we teachers). Americans love accomplishment and value improvement.

Many folks, all having been students, think they understand the education industry. They think they can teach. I won’t elaborate too much, but teachers are scrutinized these days and commit to hundreds of hours of college, graduate, professional development, and in-service coursework. We spend a semester to a year as un-paid apprentices before we even start our careers. Please trust our expertise. We spend HOURS planning 30-minute lessons to maximize our students’ success. Tall Child, annoyed at my extensive time on our computer one day (he needed it for fantasy football), remarked, “Why do you spend so much time on lesson plans? You just do the chapter, do the questions at the end, and get on with it.” Not so, my dear.

My Uncle Trout, who played basketball and baseball for Auburn University and later coached high school basketball and baseball once noted, “You know, when I look up into the stands at a ballgame and see parents who are doctors and lawyers, I don’t think I can do their jobs. But, for some reason, they all think they can coach.”

During my childhood, Delicious and I frequented Food City in Pigeon Forge, TN. I loved to watch the grocery cashiers peck out numbers and decimals on the ten-key cash register with one hand while sliding my Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls and Delicious’s Lay’s Vinegar and Salt potato chips down the conveyor belt. For years, I wanted to swap places with the checker and try to match her speed and skill. Finally, self-checkout lanes came about and, at my own Food City in Knoxville, I got to test my secret longing. My first time with self-scan was exhilarating. I was able to grocery shop sans conversation. I scanned, beeped, bagged, scanned, beeped, bagged, scanned, beeped, UH-OH. I heard a robot woman from the computer say “Please see attendant.” DANG! I screwed up some produce; I didn’t know what kind of lettuce it was and couldn’t find the PLU code. I choked under the pressure. Guess who had to help me. The cashier! I don’t bother anymore. The cashiers deserve respect and customers. Plus, I always feel a little paranoid, like I look like I’m shoplifting.

Delicious says she could edit The New York Times. Like all grammarians and English teachers, she notices every flaw in another’s speech. Luckily, she only corrects me in private. Oops. I mean to say “She corrects me only in private.” Sorry, mama. TV broadcasters, be warned. Delicious will call your boss. She phoned ESPN headquarters in New York City when a football commentator repeatedly mispronounced Auburn’s “Jordan-Hare Stadium.” Folks, it’s pronounced “jur-den,” not “jawr-dan.” She has called Lamar Advertising (a billboard company), The Mountain Press newspaper in Sevierville, NewsTalk 98.7, and Wal-Mart (for the love of God and all humanity, please change those signs to “20 items or fewer”).

Tall Child once thought he was a lumberjack. He said he wanted to cut a tree down (I’m guessing it was at least 100 feet tall) in our back yard. I said, “Don’t you dare try to do that. Please hire a professional tree service!” He promised he wouldn’t. A couple of weeks later, Sharky and I returned from a visit to The Crippled Beagle Farm to see a Knoxville Utilities Board truck, a Knox County fire truck, and neighbors surrounding our backyard. It seemed Tall Child had ignored his lack of experience and my threat. As he and our neighbor cut a notch into the huge Tulip Poplar on the wrong side, it leaned precariously toward the road and the beautiful white house full of people across the road! They panicked (thankfully) and called 911 and KUB. The KUB trained tree experts saved the road, the power lines, the house across the street, and Tall Child’s rear end. Did I mention this all happened the Saturday morning of the UT at Florida Gators football game and that, had the tree fallen, 55 houses would have lost power?

Lowe’s, Home Depot, and the internet are an awesome combo. No offense, but those stores have helped women feel less helpless and more confident that we can take care of business. No more nagging and waiting, ladies. Just Google it, buy it, and follow the instructions. You’ll show him! I’ve accomplished light electrical work, minor plumbing, and lots of painting. I can “cut in” like a stud. But, I’ve learned the hard way when to call in professionals. I’ve avoided fires but entertained several floods. My biggest project was painting the basement ceiling. Tall Child’s head hit the ugly, commercial drop tiles in our 700 sq. foot basement den. So, I ripped out all the tiles, fluorescent lights, and metalwork to “raise the roof.” Bad move. I figured I’d just sweep out the dust and enjoy rustic, wood-clad headspace. Wrong. I forgot about plumbing and wires and exposed a big mess. My solution? Paint it all. I Googled, calculated, and took off to Lowe’s to rent a paint sprayer. The only woman in the check-out line, I felt a bit judged. A flannelled man caked in nicotine and gasoline asked me, “Honey, you sure you can handle that thing?” I nervously admitted, using one of Trout’s famous lines, “I may be runnin' a mule in the Kentucky Derby.” Determined, I hauled the 80 lb. sprayer and 5 gallons of white paint home. Just getting the machine in the house and down the stairs was an aerobic, cuss-fest. I’m not sure if I ran the machine or it ran me, but we gyrated all over that square den until I’d used every drop of paint. I had miscalculated. I ran out of paint. I hustled back to Lowe’s for more, looking like this:

Oh, and department stores, please ditch the “For Sale by Owner” signs. No one should sell his or her own house. It’s painful for all involved, especially the professionals forced to negotiate with amateurs. There is soooooooooo much more involved.

If someone is "outstanding in his field," let him operate free of your critique! You do your job; he’ll do his. I’ve learned my lessons. I let other people work for me. I figure we all need each other. I see it this way: a nice lady may scan my groceries on Saturday, a nice man may fix my plumbing on Monday, and I may teach their children someday. For the record, though, I’m really good at diagnosing certain medical conditions and I KNOW I could steer a plane out of the sky, if I had to, with the help of a sexy post-military air traffic controller who would meet me on the tarmac after the crisis ended, in a running leap, on camera with a grammatically proficient news reporter detailing my heroics.

Hey, we are all capable and we are all critics. Here in the South we are all wedding planners, which brings me to Theory 17: Funerals are better than weddings, for guests, especially in the South.

See you next post! Until then, think outside the barn.

Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Facebook: Jody Cantrell Dyer
Facebook: The Eye of Adoption
GoodReads.com: Let's talk books.

Author website: www.jodydyer.com