We just got back from spending a weekend in Tucson with my mom and my aunts. My grandparents' ashes were finally interred in a mausoleum, and included service a short committal sermon as well as beautiful music, which was provided by my Auntie Anna and Uncle Dennis.
It was Noah's first experience of anything resembling a funeral, and he was somewhat nonplussed. He sat, quietly, sweating (an outdoor service in Tucson in September) and somewhat bored, but he didn't wiggle much and he only farted once. We're working on his trying to hold off on the loud gas-letting while in fairly quiet public places. I have a gassy son. All in all, he was very mature and I was proud of him.
He did end up being a little greedy when the Chinese red money envelopes (each contained a half-dollar) were passed out. For those who don't know, sometimes the red envelopes, or a coin wrapped in red paper, are passed out along with some kind of candy at funerals. The coin assures prosperity (spend it on something joyful!) and the candy is to sweeten the sorrow of grief. Typically, the candy is a regular Brachs' caramel. For this ceremony, we had tiny bags of malted milk balls because my grandfather happened to have love them. Noah ended up with a lot of 50-cent pieces and too much candy, of course. He was the only child there. My grandmother would have loved him. She always loved green eyes and curly hair.
The next day we went to Colossal Cave with my mom, Auntie Susan and Auntie Toi where we experienced the strong and distinct smell of guano, learned about stalactites (the ones that hang TIGHT to the ceiling of the cave) and stalagmites (the ones that MIGHT one day grow tall enough to reach the stalactities), and enjoyed the beauty of the Sonoran desert. Not to make this a post about farting, but while our tour group was silently taking in the beauty of the dark cave, Noah managed to let out several staccato bursts. He's so funny. <cringe>
We were fortunate enough to visit with my cousin Wes, and her husband, daughters, and grandson. Noah hightailed it into their backyard where Uncle Kraig rigged up a "baseball on a string" thingy so that Noah couldn't hit it out of the yard. Noah, 8, and Frankie, 2 1/2, played baseball for at least an hour. It was great to see, because 1.) Noah usually shies away from sports, and 2.) Noah generally shows great disdain for children younger than he. In this instance, he really admired Frankie's amazing baseball skills. And I definitely have to agree with him. Honestly, I've never seen such coordination from a toddler!I'm ready to resume this blog and found this in my 'Drafts' folder. Three years have passed since I wrote this and so much has transpired. I am so horribly sad to share that Frankie's mother, Kristina, my beautiful second cousin whom I grew to think of as my niece, was killed in July 2011 by a man speeding the wrong way on the freeway. I love her and miss her so much, but know she's looking down with loving eyes on her brilliant son Frankie who just started school (and still has amazing baseball, soccer, running skills). <3 up to Krisina in heaven.
