You just need to be organized.

Today I got stuck in the middle of a funeral procession. In my defense, it was they crappiest, most rag-tag funeral procession I’ve ever seen. Some people had their lights on, some had their hazards on, some had both, and a few had nothing. No little flags on the cars of course. And they couldn’t decide whether to obey all the traffic laws or none, which was confusing too. A very poor way to show respect for the deceased, if you ask me.

Where I come from, funeral processions are pretty basic, but very organized. Everyone is on board with the lights/hazards situation and recognizes the importance of hanging together as a group. It doesn’t hurt that there’s only one or two stop lights in the town, so no matter where the church and cemetery are located, very few non-processioners will be inconvenienced. It’s such a small town that at least one person in every car stopped for the procession is aware that there’s a funeral that day. Also, they know that the funeral is for Sooky Quimby’s* daughter-in-law’s cousin who died in a bad car crash on Indian Springs Road, you know, at that bend in the road near Brimstone Hill, and that it was because of a deer and not drink, and that they got a sandwich tray and a nice cake with his picture on it at the new Hannaford for afterwards at Sooky’s place, but Sooky is a little worried that the septic tank might not hold for having so many people over, as well she should – remember what happened back in ’91? Well, she should get it cleaned out more often then.

We’re a simple folk.

Now, my husband’s family in Buffalo, they really know how to do it right. Everyone gets a little flag on the car, there’s police and/or fire personnel at every intersection to block traffic between the funeral home and the cemetery and between the cemetery and the church, and if a car even THINKS of breaking up the procession by making a left, every single processioner will beep at them. Also, they’re city folk, not redneck like me, so they go to a restaurant after.

*This is a real person, who used to live down the street from me when I was real little. Once, her donkey wandered up to our house, so Mom and I walked the donkey the mile down the hill to her place. It was very exciting, I think his name was Amos. I fed him a carrot.