Posted by Baggaman
Yesterday Quokkagirl had a go at crappy crematoria. Fair do’s. But it’s not all bad.
Take the time limit. Is that a restraint or a constraint? A restraint is bad, something to be got round. A constraint is good. The best art, literature and music are inspired by self-imposed constraints. The haiku, for example. 12-note composition. Blank verse. Street art.
The 20-minute funeral.
It drives up attendance. It reassures us we won’t be there all day, praise the lord. We’ve got 21st century thresholds of impatience, we haven’t time or inclination to get whirled into a vortex of ritual and la-di-da and, god forbid, the sacrifice of an ox.
He was 78. That’s a decent innings. Death happens.
Time constraint enforces concision. Time for just one eulogy, and a snappy one at that. No time for close family members and friends to speak one after another with extreme difficulty, inarticulacy or egotism. No time for open-mic. Phew.
Keep the private separate from the public. Don’t do in public what’s best done at home. Don’t do in the funeral what’s best left for afterwards over a few drinks.
Constraints concentrate the mind and condense the content. Make a decent fist of it but don’t overplay your hand, we won’t feel cheated. Cut to the chase, distil to the essence.
We come to do our bit, pay our respects. Understand who a funeral is for. Enough’s enough.