Oh, Crap. And Amen.

It's been decades since Plotnik went to a Catholic funeral, and they aren't as...Latin as they used to be. It probably has something to do with the kind of parish -- St. Paul's is gloriously beautiful inside, with brilliant stained glass and well-worn pews, but it doesn't reek with incense, and the priest does not seem the least bit condescending when he says "If you're Catholic you may kneel, if you are not Catholic you may sit down now."

In the end, of course, funerals are funerals. Their purpose is to give some kind of underpinning to the one major flaw that has been built into the living process, the flaw we all attempt to deny. Which religion is hosting the event is far less relevant than the universal message, which is: "Oh, Crap."

It was nice to be able to walk to the church and talk with neighbors outside. You'd be seeing a photo right now of Dana and Leslie who drove in from Sonoma, except that Ducknik quacked loudly at Plotnik when she saw he was about to take his camera to a funeral. She was right, of course. The Blogger sometimes forgets.

There weren't a lot of funny stories. No one got up to say "I remember the night that Aunt Pat washed the dog." Nobody tried to collect pledges for the new building fund. What we got for Pat Allgood's funeral was liturgy, a soprano with a very beautiful voice, a piano that rang to the rafters, a priest whose right knee seemed to trouble him every time he bent to kneel, but who had obviously known Pat for many years. That's one advantage of going to Mass every Sunday of your life -- the priest can speak about you with knowledge and feeling.

But what can he say? Oh, Crap. And Amen.