Funeral Directors Congregate - Boston Runs Low on Whiskey

My apologies to the fine people of Boston, Massachusetts. I have spent my fifth work related trip there but have failed to see the sights or have a decent meal yet again. Somebody could make a fortune directing business travelers to a real restaurant, but that is a rant for another day.

Let's talk death, my friends! I went to another Funeral Convention. This was my fourth national convention and my worst fears have come true. A person CAN get used to walking into a convention center to the sight of acres of caskets, hearses, and urns. For the first time I did not get that jolting urge to run or laugh too loudly out of nervousness upon entering the convention center. Bummer.

As I do every year, I have some great offerings for you of the latest products and innovations in the death care industry. What I choose to blog on each year is the absolute best the convention has to offer. Or the weirdest things you could possibly think of, depending upon your point of view.

First up - for those of you looking to go green but wanting something cozier than bamboo. How about a casket or urn made entirely of wool?

Yes, let that sink in there for a minute. The Brits are always my favorites at these conventions. The English will make you a wool casket while the Irish chat you up about old Father Ted episodes (more on my beloved Pat in a moment.)

The company is Hainsworth. The products are completely biodegradable wool. Yes, they are soft and sturdy. And I think this is brilliant!

I have a devoted reader originally from across the pond who has been gently nudging me to get my green cemetery going before he takes his final saunter through this life. Jim, I think you would look stunning in the brown casket. That and a couple of tens of thousands in a personal loan to me, will get you the green burial you have been looking for.

My buddies at the Irish Dirt company came back (See last year's posts from Orlando.) The economy has been hard on Irish Dirt according to Pat, my main dirt man, but that's a story as old as time. It is such a great product, though, that I have decided to sell it on my Death Club website. It should be available in January if I can get the kinks out of the website.

Just a refresher: It is dirt. From Ireland. You can be buried with it, have it sprinkled over your grave, get your ashes comingled with it and scattered together; or, for the unimaginative, you can grow shamrocks in it.

My buddy Pat, the Dirt Dude, has this fantastic accent that is often impenetrable as he mutters something that sounds like it could be laced with expletives, rue, and innuendo. Turns out when I get him to repeat it - he is not talking dirty - just talking about death and dirt. He also supports me in my love of "Father Ted" reruns. I love him.

While yukking it up with Pat at Irish Dirt Convention Headquarters one afternoon I was heckled from my buddies a few booths down who yelled out, "Look out, Pat! She'll flirt for dirt!" (Funeral Insurance guys sure are a jealous bunch.) Will someone please inscribe Flirt for Dirt on my tombstone?

It was a funeral convention. There was whiskey involved. Sadly, I missed ALL the antics. Pat and the insurance boys assured me that having missed escapades at half the Irish bars in town (and in Boston that is saying something) my life is meaningless. What a comfort.

Next installments from the funeral convention: Bad jokes about salad shooters and cremains, some beautiful urns, the hottest hearse ever.

All Ghouls' Day

This is a solemn day at Auspicious Jots. We take this holiday very seriously and are appalled by all who would undermine the reason for the season with irritating jingles, crass merchandise, and blatant consumerism.

Tony Hawk (pictured below) and I wish you a very serious Halloween full of contemplation on the meaning of your life as witness to carved pumpkins, door-to-door neighbor visitations, and bright blue hair. See our disdain? We are overflowing with our self-righteous indignation aimed at those who are inappropriately mindless of the power of mayhem and empty calories in our lives.

May all the good tidings of the season be yours. And NO, you may not have the t-shirt.

Death Club in Life

I have been working the extensive behind the scenes building of my death club website and had hoped to have it half up by November 1 (Day of the Dead). But deep down I am a Luddite and this has made me want to hurl my laptop into the river. There have been considerable complications in the site creation process. The Undertaker Buddy and I have even been reduced to mutual fussing which is not what either of us had hoped for. It is his fault, however. (Ha ha ha ha ha ha. He doesn't have a blog so I can just hurl lies about for my own amusement. Not his fault at ALL.)

I've also been on grief delay losing my aunt and grandmother within two months of each other and having the responsibilities for the funerals of both. It makes picking out t-shirts for Death Club feel a little too close to home.

Updates to come include my report on the 2009 National Funeral Director's Convention with pictures, the link to Death Club, Death Club's holiday calendar, and the latest Death Club video. I will also probably post a tribute to both my aunt and grandmother. All of this and Halloween just around the corner. I am feeling ike I am more than the president of Death Club - I am living Death Life.

At least they serve peanut M&M's here.

A Video from Death Club

Blogspot, please accept my apologies. I have been working on a Wordpress site and it is the hardest, most infuriating thing ever!!!! I never should have disparaged this nice little blog helper.

Hi, Reader - my neck hurts, my shoulders hurt, and I am cursing like a madwoman because I have spent almost 5 hours today messing with MovieMaker, Wordpress, and trying to upload to Facebook. All with questionable performance from my computer and internet service.

And the purpose of this industrious frenzy was a one minute video noting that I have not completed any of my Death Club videos yet. (Death Club is my new website which will take as long to build as the Cologne cathedral.)

So NOW I STILL have not completed any videos, nor is my website running, but I have a video telling you that. I'm linking and hopefully adding now... (Don't let anyone ever tell you that being a Luddite is pain free.)

(Hope dashed on the adding, GRAUAGKFJGFKJVS!!!!)

Brad Tucker is Richmond's Jackson Browne

While you are sitting there chewing on your nails and wondering what to microwave, there are millions of musicians vying to be the BEST Musician you have NEVER heard of. Millions of them waiting for you to do a little web surfing, sniff around eMusic.com or drag your tail to a venue to hear them and realize the folly of your lazy non-music hunting ways.

You don't even have to pluck your thumb from your belly button. Let me tell you that TODAY the best musician you have never heard of is Brad Tucker. He lives right here in River City. He is sweet and funny, friendly and non-pushy. But he also happens to be a musician before whom you should toss your favorite coat lest he dust up his moccasins.

Brad Tucker is probably best known for his role in good time band The Taters as the funny one. No, they're all funny. He's the one who smiles all the time? Again - not narrowing it down. How about the one that sings like a songbird? Well, that's multiple choice, too. Never mind. You can find him singing with the Taters among others. He's the one that waves when you yell, "Hey, Brad Tucker!"

I am ashamed to say that I took Brad's talents for granted until today. Some people make it look too easy. They can play with anyone. They're always cheerful and don't screw up. They arrive on time, if not early. And at the end of the night you feel like you've been at a great show. But Brad is not showy, so one could just come to expect greatness from him and take it for granted. That one would be me.

But today, TODAY Brad Tucker came to a castle turned museum on Monument Avenue. He arrived plenty early and looking dapper. He warmed up. (Other musicians- please take note of that one.) Then he stood up before a room of strangers and sang at the Richmond version of my aunt's memorial service.

Singing at death events is not easy. Singing at death events for someone you did not know can be awkward. Singing at a death event that is suicide related? Very bad. But not if you are Brad Tucker.

Brad sang 4 songs beautifully and played his guitar with finesse and grace. And here is the kicker: he had never performed most of them until today. Want another kick? He had 36 hours to rehearse.

There are millions of musicians who think they can do this and almost all of them are wrong. Too often, in music and other skills, we all rest on the praise of former greatness and do not push ourselves to the next level. Not Brad. He worked hard learning these songs and was then humble and apologetic because he had to use a lyric sheet. Singing like that - he could have worn a Valkyrie battle helmet with horns and long blonde braids hanging down and not had to apologize. It was awesome. It was perfect. The room, his tone, his phrasing, his lovely voice - perfect.

You need to hear Brad Tucker. That's all there is to it

And when you do, you need to pay very close attention. Because while he is playing well and being unassuming and friendly - he is also sharing an incredible gift of talent and hard work that will amaze you if you let it.

Today he made a little magic that helped start the healing of this great big hole in my heart. Thank you, Brad. Come out and see Brad with the Taters or hunt his fanny down online. You owe it to yourself.

Future Planning

When we last checked in on our intrepid blogger she was napping, reading the paper, wondering about her purpose in life and doing part-time shift work with a government agency. In other words: the same daily activities of 78.3% of all bloggers. (The other 18.5% are trying to sell you something. 3.2% have nothing better to do while waiting for their court date.)

Then there was the unintentional four day cliffhanger that illuminated for me why soap operas and Charles Dickens use them. Cliffhangers are GREAT for ratings and require no work. Just ignore your audience for four days and let them speculate. My cliffhanger came not for dramatic purposes but late summer ennui, but the effect was the same.

"Will the blog continue?" (Dramatic chords via organ or timpani go here.)

And we resume with our program already in progress. The answer is...

Complicated.

We here at Auspicious Enterprises are building ourselves a website, yes indeedy. Does anyone recall this blog when it first began and I could barely post without some major technological complication? Now imagine that same mind trying to build a website. CODE. There are expectations that I fiddle around with CODE. You gotta' be kidding me.

But the money has been paid. The domains are purchased. The hosting has begun. The writing, research, photo snapping, and web-building are all underway. As with every renovation project, virtual or residential, here I am up at 0315 wondering what I was thinking. Meanwhile a small little part of me is holding onto hope with a tinny little mantra of, "T-shirts. There will be t-shirts."

Here is the part where I tell you all about the new website. I include my lofty goals and enough tidbits to ensure your belief that you will not be complete without my website in your life. I woo you with a subtle combination of wit and poetry. I act cool. I get you humming Lucero songs even though you haven't a clue who they are. But you feel so Hip!

As the final deal clincher I reveal the catchy name and a snazzy, dazzy link. It is like the lush velvet curtain rising. It is like the "A... NEW... CAR!" moment on The Price is Right. It is like the ultrasound tech saying, "Mrs. Sherman, you are going to have TWINS." It is like...

None of these things because I just tried the link and was informed quite impersonally and somehwat snidely that I have not uploaded the site correctly. So it's back to Auspicious Jots - home for the e-pathetic. I am trying not to curse around the kids but at 3AM there are no children so...

{SITE ERROR error code dfs271// Foul language was loaded improperly. Website administrator is a total moron//}

Will the Blog Continue?

Mother Confessor, it has been 39 years since my last confession. I went to see a movie tonight. With my mother. At a movie theater. First Run. Without coupons. AND it WAS NOT a documentary! REPENT! REPENT!

Yes, dear reader - it is TWUE like Princess Bride love. I did a normal American event and it was great. Mama and I saw "Julie and Julia" or we might have seen "Julia and Julie" and it is possible that we saw "Who knew Stanley Tucci was such a cutie?" Whatever the name - we enjoyed it.

I enjoyed the following elements: tall women were featured; incredible beef stew was cooked three separate times; they flashed Virginia Diner peanuts - the best peanuts in the world; Stanley Tucci looked very sexy (who knew?); and they made the Auspicious Jots/Lizard Eater friendship into a plotline. My mother was also featured in the film in the role of Julie's Texas mother. My mother is sweeter. But my mother is sweeter than all Texas mothers from what I hear.

I was not aware that the film would feature blogging so prominently because I do not do normal American things like see previews of movies or read reviews. Or did not do until the career change, retirement, sabbatical, or whatever it is I am doing with my life these days. Maybe this is why I did not get the Tucci Cutie memo before now.

But it was not the blogger who had the AJ/LE relationship. It was Chef Julia herself and some gal named Azil or Alberta or another appropriate mid-20th century name. They were best of friends and did not meet for 8 years because they were pen pals. It took Lizard Eater only two years to get to me in person. But had her husband not bought the ticket, it would have taken us 8. At least.

The movie made me think of all the nice things that have come into my life thanks to blogging.

* You, of course, are the best part of it (don't tell the others that you are truly my favorite.) But I also have met other delightful people all over the country and even in some land north of us that I still believe may be myth.

* I have had the unnerving but flattering experience of meeting people in person who said, "I read your blog" with an honest to goodness smile on their faces.

* I got to know my congregation better through face to face conversations inspired by the blog.

* And a few people each year, sitting in their PJs at 3 AM got to meet their first Unitarian Universalist.

All good things. Might I even hazard these are... auspicious?

The less auspicious moments are mostly predictable.

* My mother thought it was the stupidest thing she ever heard of. She groaned and rolled her eyes every time it was mentioned for at least six months.

* I ticked off a band with my prediction that they would burn out or become wildly famous. I was sadly right about the burnout, it would seem.

* The only thing I really enjoy writing about is death and dying which is hard to build a fan base on.

* I live with chronic illness and sometimes rotten luck, so I often did not want to write honestly about those things.

With all of this in mind, I gave myself a September 1 deadline to decide if I would continue the blog in my post-ministerial state.

I have decided.

THURSDAY Evening Death Club

A late summer Thursday evening in the hopping capital of the Commonwealth can only mean one thing: Death Club!!

Death Club is a group much like Fight Club of Chuck Palahniuk/Brad Pitt fame except the first rule of Death Club is: spread the news about Death Club. Oh, and unlike Fight Club where you have to fight - we don't die in death club. Not yet, anyway.

Death Club has two presidents and no members, a temporary state we hope. If we don't get members we are going to have a coup between us and that is just going to be ugly. Presidente Numero Uno is my undertaker buddy and the guy who puts the fun back into funerals: Richard. The President most likely to not meet the Pope but ask you to kiss her ring anyway is, well, that would be me.

When my undertaker buddy and I are at funeral director's conventions we say, "Death Club!"

When we are speaking on issues of death and dying at memorial societies, rotary clubs, church groups, and ethics in dying groups we shout, "Death Club!"

When we were the only people at the theater to see "Death at a Funeral" and we watched it on DVD, our only defense was, "Death Club?"

And we are calling to order another meeting of Death Club this Thursday at 6:30 PM at the Fountain Bookstore in Richmond's historic and beautiful Shockoe Slip. This time you are invited. The authors of Grave Expectations are rolling into town for a chat, schmooze, and, unbeknownst to them, Death Club meeting.

Come out and join us. Maybe we will elect you Sergeant at Arms of Death Club. Maybe we will put you on the Death Club e-news list. I'm positive we can get a cool t-shirt out of this eventually. And you will be bringing peace and harmony to Death Club thus avoiding a sham election, executive corruption, or Richard and I renting both seasons of "Dead Like Me". Again.

The meeting agenda includes talking about meaningful death rituals, examining how coming to terms with fears about death and dying can make life more enjoyable, and post Death Club cocktails somewhere in Shockoe Slip. (My stomach still hurts so I'll be throwing back ginger ale if you are looking for a non-alc buddy to hang with.)

For more on the Fountain Bookstore or Grave Expectations follow this link.