Went to Monterey for step-grandma's memorial service yesterday. It had been a long time since I had been there (well over a year, maybe over two). The only real social reason I have to go there is to see family, and the part of the family that I am in regular contact with comes to me often enough. It's always a bit nostalgic, because Monterey is damn purty and just eccentric enough to be interesting. I felt a little sadder leaving this time, but that was probably because of the sad family vibe.
The service was nice and personal. Step-pa's a Christian Scientist, and I guess they don't do funerals, for whatever reason. The service was at the Methodist place just up the hill from their house, and the pastor or reverend or whatever she was called let them do a reading from the CS Textbook etc. When she talked, it was to give an illuminating biography. She concluded with a poem that step-pa wrote on his mother's death, which was well-read and crushingly sad. My mom's remembrance was sad too. ("We've lost our last parent. No one is left between us and that dark abyss. And people, let me tell you, it's cold out here.") A few people in the audience stood to say some things, and other statements were read.
Anyway, I had to cut my visit very short because I am behind two eight-balls this weekend--two papers demanding my attention. I am writing this because one of them is frustrating me at the moment. But I had best quit the lollygaggin' and tongue-waggin', and get back to section 201 of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations.
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