Our little village of Obedin
So our next door neighbor has died. Seeing as how I never met her and therefore cannot claim friendship or any other sort of ship you may wonder why I would mention this event at all. Well, it has brought to my attention that the main focus of this blog appears to be centered around food with an occasional pause in our hedonism to interject something cerebral only for the sake of the children's education. But far be it from me to promote a strictly epicurean lifestyle.
As the late George Harrison once said (and I think he was loosely quoting either Rumi or The Bhagavad Gita) "All else must wait, but the quest for God cannot." I think of this and apply it quite literally at times and at other times I apply it in principle; photos of chili cheese dogs and descriptions of soul food restaurants must take a back seat to life's larger events: birth, death, visa extensions...
So in the interest of promoting greater worldwide cultural awareness (isn't that the new buzz phrase? or maybe not, after all, I've been gone some weeks now and I am no longer current with the fast-changing American lingo) I am endeavoring to expand my blogging repertoire beyond provender and the occasional scenic view to subjects with a tad more depth.
A caveat: if your spouse/parent/roommate complains that you spend too much time browsing the web visiting witless, inane sites, (aka this blog) you can now proudly proclaim that you are perusing material for a possible degree in thanatology. That otta shut 'em up!
Alas, if all you seek are photos of Crepes Suzette and stories of tweens being sent to kindergarten then this post might be too esoteric but have no fear, in two weeks I am off to Vienna where I hope to do nothing more than consume pastries and sausages.
Being a closet thanatologist myself, as well as an ex-hospice worker, palliative/hospice care nurse you can see my obvious personal interest in the subject of this post. That being said, there are photos of a dead body as so if anyone feels queasy about viewing this, I recommend you either squint at the screen to obscure the image (unless you are myopic in which case you should open your eyes very, very wide) or simply close now and wait for the next installment.
So....the story here:
The cause of death was the number one killer of all humankind: batran. (translation: old age). She was an elderly woman, unmarried with no children who lived alone with none but her dogs and the first indication I had that anything was amiss next door was the incessant, nocturnal barking of said dogs. Happily I refrained from standing on my balcony at 2 am and screaming at them to shut up as I later discovered that the reason for the excited clamor was the arrival of a nephew and sister who came to hold vigil over the body.
The next morning, amidst a great deal more barking, there arrived a swarm of people from all over the village and a great deal of coming and going and what sounded like a three piece band struck up next door. Yes I am a budding thanatologist but that doesn't mean I want to PRY into the lives of my grieving neighbors, it was bad enough that I was snapping photos of the goings on from my front and back balconies. My attempt to be clandestine was hopelessly unsuccessful (note to self: if this nursing thing goes bust I have no future as a member of the paparazzi).
I was eventually assured that my photo taking and curiosity were a matter of indifference to the surviving relatives. The nephew matter-of-factly informed us that his aunt was not a very nice woman and no one was particularly grief-striken over her death and in fact, they had hired mourners for the day because they felt it was not very propitious if no one was crying.
I just report the news, folks, I don't make it up.
So here it is:
Photos from a funeral
The priest arrives
The hearse/truck is prepared
The body of the deceased is carried out of the house and properly arranged
Ready to begin the ritual: she will be driven up and down the main village road accompanied by relatives and villagers and afterward the conglomeration will go to the church and cemetery for the burial
I wish there was a way to include the sound: this reminded me very much of a New Orleans' style funeral, just to give you some point of reference
"Oh when the saints come marching in...."
A house in mourning
While I don't believe in, or advocate shackling society with the strict observance of elaborate or oppressive mourning rituals, there is some benefit to be derived from something like this black band displayed around the pillar of my neighbor's house. Western culture eschews such observances and we are generally too quick to say to someone grieving: "get over it and move on." For anyone who has been bereft of a dearly beloved one, you know the feeling is akin to be flayed alive; you are vulnerable and your vital organs are tender and exposed. In the best application of a mourning symbol it says to the world outside that you are suffering a wound and for a society that endorses the real meaning behind it, they say "be gentle with this person, they suffer from wounds unseen."
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