It’s a time for remembering military personnel lost in the line of duty, or for some, just remembering friends and family who’ve passed away.
I did this yesterday by spitting.
|Yesterday's sacred spit |
at Tumalo Falls.
Grandma Lucy – the woman in whose memory I performed this sacred act – would have approved.
Lucy was the queen of peculiar behavior. She met my grandfather at a garage where he worked as a mechanic and informed him that if he could rebuild a disassembled car in a week, she’d marry him.
He did, so she did, and they were married for more than 50 years.
And you thought my wedding was odd. At least I knew the guy.
One of Grandma Lucy’s habits was spitting over the edge of any bridge she crossed. It became something of a family custom, with my father, my brother and I upholding the tradition on bridges and scenic overlooks around the world.
So when Pythagoras and I went for a hike at Tumalo Falls yesterday, it seemed fitting to hock a loogie in honor of my grandmother.
Back in 2006, I wrote a humorous mystery set in the funeral industry. It’s the book that ultimately landed me my wonderful agent, and though it didn’t sell, it’s still one of my favorites. When I started that book, I wondered if I’d still feel like writing humorous scenes about funerals and cremations and death if someone close to me passed away.
Grandma Lucy died the same week I finished that book.
And I can say for certain that she would have wanted me to keep laughing. She had a knack for finding humor in the strangest places, and for making other people laugh – often without trying.
So Grandma Lucy – I spit in your honor.
And don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re up to today. Everyone says it’s raining, but I know better.
|Grandma Lucy and my dad upholding the family tradition.|