Posted by: Kate | June 23, 2009

Late for his Own…

You’ve heard the phrase, right? I’ve used it myself, in reference to my mother and a few other much-beloved individuals who rely on a method of timekeeping that is at least 15 minutes past the one the rest of us use.

But it turns out that Norman – who was an old, salty Navy guy and was never late – actually was late to his own funeral. Grandma Ann had arranged to ship his ashes up several weeks ago, but somehow the funeral parlor dropped the ball on that one. So Saturday’s events went on without the planned boat ride to scatter his ashes over the bay.

It’s probably just as well, really. Things got ugly enough without opening the opportunity to shove anyone overboard.



  1. the late, great Norman

  2. Hee hee hee hee šŸ™‚

  3. Thats funny, in a funny sort of way.

  4. What the hell is it about funerals? I’ve seen so much ugliness evolve out of the death of a beloved family member.
    (Glad it’s not just MY family.)

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