It was a very nice funeral, and a reminder just how big the family is.  He was survived by one son, 8 grandkids, 17 great-grandkids, and 8 great, great-grandkids.  Not too mention the offspring of his brothers, and Grandma Davis' siblings.

The funniest thing happened during the service.  About halfway through, you hear "I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskogee..."  Someone forgot to turn off their cellphone!  A lot of people reached for theirs at that point.

Unfortunately, my Uncle Joe's funeral was at the exact same time today in Elgin, OK.  I really would've liked to go and see some family that I hadn't seen in many years.  But oh well. I did get to visit the funeral home on my way to Altus Thursday morning.

We're headed back home tomorrow.

Last.fm errang heute erstmals meine größere Aufmerksamkeit, weil es mir die Möglichkeit eröffnete, die alten, längst nicht mehr erhältlichen Demoalben meiner Lieblingsbands in voller Länge anzuhören. Wenn sogar ebay versagt und die bandeigenen Homepages ratlos sind - ein Hafen in Sicht!

So geht's: Ich (der Benutzer) erstelle erst ein Profil und gebe meine Lieblingsbands an. Ab hier rollt die Sache in einem absoluten hyperverlinkten Wahnsinn - "ähnlich wie" und "die alle hören gerade dasselbe wie du" sind nur zwei der Empfehlfunktionen, die Genre-intern die Weichen legen zu einer Vielzahl nie gehörter, hörenswerter Acts. Und ja, es gibt in der Musikwelt viel zu viel Gutes, mit dem man viel zu schwer in Berührung kommt. Der Blizzard an Großartigkeit, der gerade über mich wäscht, droht mich zu blenden - höchste Zeit, ein Textdokument zu öffnen und die Auffälligkeiten zu notieren. Denn eines Tages werden sie hier in diesem Blog landen (-:

Ich fange gleich mal an.
Von "Doom Metal" kommt man zu "Funeral Metal" kommt man zu "Drone Metal". Bienenmetal? Inspiriert ist die Genrebezeichnung von tiefen, dröhnenden Basslinien; angesiedelt wird der Sound zwischen metallisch und Ambient. Dieser Spagat soll existieren? Äußerst reizvoll.
Als Pioniere dieser Musikrichtung werden unter anderem die Amerikaner Sunn O))) gehandelt, zwei Sechssaiter-klampfende Freaks in Mönchskutten. Sie arbeiten mit den typischen, der Rockmusik verschriebenen Instrumenten à la E-Gitarren, Bass, Schlagzeug und Percussion, wobei die Sounds elektronisch stark übersteuert und verfremdet werden. Auf Gesang und Rhythmus wird eigentlich völlig verzichtet. Die Ambient-Querverbindung rührt wahrscheinlich her von langgezogenen, ins Monotone (und damit Meditative?) abgleitenden Tönen und Sounds, die langsam und voluminös auftragen.
Ich muss mich noch näher mit dieser Band befassen (was ich sicher auch tun werde), um ein qualifizierteres Urteil abgeben zu können, aber der Eindruck, den ich bis jetzt gewonnen habe, ist ein durchaus positiver. Schwierig sind Sunn O))) aber, und ich könnte es durchaus verstehen, wenn sie (auch in Metalkreisen) nicht überall geschätzt werden.

Von der Qualität des CD-Covers kann man ja nicht immer auf die Qualität des Albums schließen, und so lasse ich mich zwar gern, aber oft bereuend, von guten Covers täuschen (wie zum Beispiel bei diesen Russen). Ein gelungenes Cover ist allerdings nach wie vor in der Lage, mich neugierig und gierig zu machen, und mir, richtig, Geld aus der Tasche zu ziehen.
So wie dieses hier. Das "Black One" Cover von Sunn O))) gehört mit Sicherheit zu den besten, die ich seit langem gesehen habe, und könnte sich unter den Top Ten Fotografien 2008 ohne Probleme finden lassen. Ich komme an Jahresende darauf zurück!

Neben besagten Dronern habe ich mir auch noch Shape of Despair angehört, ein recht einfallsloser Name für eine bemerkenswerte Doom-Metal-Band. (Gutes Lied in voller Länge.)
Ich will ja nicht streiten oder sonst irgendwie unangenehm auffallen (naja vielleicht doch), aber jeder Metalfeind sollte sich zumindest fünf Mal einlassen auf Musik wie die hier genannte, und sei es nur, um einen vielfältigeren Eindruck vom verhassten Genre zu bekommen. Vielleicht wird er es danach nicht lieben, womöglich nicht einmal besser finden, aber wäre es nicht ein Ziel, die ganze bizarre Bandbreite einmal ausgebreitet zu sehen? Es ist alles, außer simplistisch, nein hier tut sich eine Menge. Das sage ich nicht, weil ich das Wedding Band der Krawallmacher trage.

Während ich hier schreibe, raubt mir last.fm jedenfalls auch noch den letzten Nerv. Was, schon wieder ein neuer Künstler? Und was habe ich davor eigentlich gerade gehört? Wie hieß schnell die Band davor... Mal checken, ob Amazon was hat - Amazon hat alles! Teuer ist das. Oh, auf Vinyl? Nächster Act. Viel zu viele. Viel zu gut sogar. Woher kommen die bloß alle?

'We did a lot of public consultation on this' said funeral organiser Arthur Scargill. 'The consensus was that people will be queuing for miles for a chance to dance on her grave. We have to put in basic safety facilities like the wooden floor, security guards and souvenir stall.'

Stroke victim Baroness Thatcher declined to respond in words we could actually understand.

I guess I've always allowed my fascination to lie in the wet underbelly of my subconscious, but today as I enjoyed my daily ritual of perusing the obituarties in my hometown newspaper, I gave conscious thought to this dark interest.

It may have begun in my childhood.  My grandfather was a prominent mortician in Akron, Ohio, a couple of hours away from my boyhood home.  My family would visit him often, and he and Grandma would come visit us equally as often.  But I especially enjoyed our visits to them as we would drive the Ohio Turnpike to his home in Akron.  On our arrival, we would be greeted with a $1 bill (in the late 1960's, that would buy enough candy to make one vomit, but I digress...) and all the butterballs we could eat.

Then, over the next days, I'd spend my time mostly with my cousin Danny.  Danny's family, like Grandpa and Grandma, lived in a neighborhood behind the funeral home, within walking distance of the place.

I always wanted to be like Danny.  He was a real cool kid.  He had the cool move of proudly displaying a bottle of red formaldehyde as a decoration on his dresser.  (How bout THAT!?! Knew how to spell formaldehyde without even looking it up in the dictionary.)

Danny had the run of the funeral home, as long as he didn't get in the way of any customers.  Any living customers.  Nobody really cared what he might have done with the dead customers (especially the dead ones themselves, probably), but still he respected them.

I got some really bomb-ass behind-the-scenes tours of the Kucko-Hecker Funeral Home.  We played hide-and-seek in the casket storage room.  He showed me the embalming room and at no extra charge, he threw in an explanation of all the really cool tools used to prep a dead body (oh so gross but oh so cool!).  He even offered to let me spy on an embalming, but I wasn't yet ready for that.

I haven't heard from Danny in years and years.  I suppose it's because I have about 70 cousins on both sides of my family.  I think Danny's an attorney these days.  I bet he specializes in probate law.

Such wonderful childhood memories!

The funeral home is still there.  It's now run by Danny's brother Peter.  The lobby displays a prominent oil painting of my Grandpa, who now looks a lot like my older, balder brother.  THAT is scarier than three corpses in a two-chapel funeral home!

Grandpa's been dead for about thirty years, but I still remember the two pieces of advice he gave me:  1) You don't need to fear dead people. They can't harm you.  It's the living people you should fear.  2)  You shouldn't just eat drumsticks.  You should learn to eat all the pieces of the chicken.  You might go to a wedding some day and have to eat something other than a drumstick.  Yep, good advice on BOTH counts.

To celebrate the posting of today's blog, I'm eating a Brach's butterball.  I'm reminded of beautiful caskets made of rich, deep wood. And organ music and people crying.  And driving in a procession, immune to the stoplights.  And post-funeral gatherings with kielbasa and fried chicken and cole slaw.  For some reason, this brings me comfort. 

Maybe my death fascination would have been a fear of death - certainly that would be more heatlhy, I supose.  But ignorance is bliss.  Hand me another butterball, please.  Anybody know a good funeral this weekend?

Há tempos não via o marido descontraído, tomando uma cervejinha gelada e comendo uma carne na companhia dos amigos de infância como fazia naquele momento. Havia tanto tempo desde a última vez que isso tinha acontecido, que aquela visão até lhe causava enorme estranheza. Aliás, muitas coisas em sua vida ficaram estranhas a partir do momento que o marido mudou de profissão.

Dorival tinha sido eletricista a vida inteira. Fez cursos técnicos no SENAC e trabalhou durante anos para uma estatal no ramo de energia elétrica (ELETROBRÁS). Há pouco mais de três anos, foi demitido por justa causa pela empresa, quando foi pego realizando "gatos" para diversos vizinhos. Perdeu todos os benefícios, e entrou em depressão. A situação financeira começou a apertar, e Dorival não conseguia empregos em razão da mancha em sua carteira de trabalho, até o dia em que surgiu a possibilidade de trabalhar em uma funerária da região. O serviço não era dos mais convidativos, mas precisava de dinheiro para sustentar a mulher e a filha, então decidiu aceitar.

Passar a conviver com cadáveres não foi fácil no início. A morbidez, o desespero dos familiares, os corpos dilacerados, esmagados, baleados, esquartejados, não eram as melhores visões que um olho poderia desejar, mas junto com os mortos vinha também dinheiro, muito dinheiro, e isso ajudou em uma adaptação mais rápida e tranquila. Funerais eram bem remunerados - famílias dificilmente tinham o hábito de pechinchar numa hora como essa -, e os agentes funerários recebiam polpudas comissões.

Poucos eram aptos para trabalhar diariamente com a morte, e Dorival, certamente, era um deles. Dedicou-se quase que integralmente ao novo trabalho, completamente seduzido pelo dinheiro. Ficava à disposição 24 horas por dia, 7 dias por semana. Só não pegava um serviço quando já estava cuidando de outro, mas, mesmo assim, tentava repassar o serviço para outro agente funerário em troca de parte da comissão. Não viajava, não saía, não jantava fora e não frequentava mais churrascos na casa de amigos.

Depois de um tempo, seu excesso de profissionalismo tornou-se uma questão difícil de conviver. Nas raras oportunidades em que encontrava os amigos, só falava de morto pra cá, acidente pra lá, do homem que teve os órgãos comidos por um cachorro, do outro que foi encontrado empalado pelo ânus em uma cerca de ferro, etc. Com isso, seus amigos foram se afastando cada vez mais, um a um, repudiados não só pelas histórias relatadas, mas, principalmente, pela frieza e escárnio com que Dorival as contava.

A gota d´água para sua "exclusão" social foi o dia em que acompanhou a mulher em uma visita à casa de uma vizinha cuja mãe estava bem doente, praticamente nas últimas. Ficaram na casa por alguns minutos e se retiraram. Enquanto caminhavam em direção ao portão, a porta da casa foi aberta por uma mulher aos berros, gritando incongruências e correndo na direção de Dorival. Assim que o alcançou, a mulher começou a esmurrá-lo com uma mão, enquanto segurava, com a outra, um pedaço de papel retangular. Dorival, já com total desrespeito pela vida e pela morte, havia deixado um cartão seu em cima da mesa da sala. Antes mesmo da mãe da mulher ter falecido. Magda, envergonhada com a atitude do marido, conseguiu acalmar a vizinha enquanto ele ia embora. Ao deixar o portão para trás, em meio a todos os xingamentos a ele ofertados, teve a atenção chamada por um: Urubu. A mulher o havia chamado de urubu.

Dali em diante foi socialmente banido por amigos, vizinhos, e até alguns parentes. Não ligou para isso até o momento em que percebeu que esse ostracismo social a que fora condenado, passara a lhe causar prejuízos financeiros. Quando alguém da região falecia, as pessoas não aceitavam a presença dele no funeral, o que fez com que Dorival passasse a atender apenas os casos mais distantes. Então, dizendo-se arrependido, pediu à mulher que o ajudasse a reconquistar os amigos e vizinhos, pois estava sendo difícil conviver com o desprezo dos outros. Magda, dessa forma, resolveu organizar um churrasco e convidar toda a comunidade.

Muitos não foram, mas, também, outros tantos apareceram. No início um tanto precavidos, vigilantes, distribuindo olhares desconfiados para o agente funerário. Mas, meu colega, não existe rusga que uma carne e uma boa cerveja gelada não apague. Pouco tempo depois, para felicidade de Magda, lá estava o marido compenetrado em meio a uma emocionante partida de truco. É, aquele era mesmo um domingo feliz para Magda. Um domingo como antigamente. Até o momento em que o celular de Dorival tocou. Ele se levantou, cedendo o lugar na mesa de truco para outro, e distanciando-se enquanto falava ao telefone. Magda sabia que aquilo só podia significar uma coisa: Trabalho.

Então, viu o marido caminhar em sua direção com passos apressados:

- Magda, onde estão as chaves do rabecão (carro funerário)?

- Não, Dorival, você prometeu!

- Vai logo, mulher de DEUS! Eu não tenho tempo a perder! Vou buscar um corpo em Vitória da Conquista-BA, e tenho que sair já para chegar a tempo de transportar o corpo.

- Tão longe? Por favor, não vá Dorival! Seus amigos estão todos aqui! Você já bebeu...fique, por mim!

- Por você, mulher? por você? Acha que eu tô indo buscar um corpo onde judas perdeu as meias porque eu acho gostoso dirigir 12 horas seguidas? Não, minha querida, não! Faço por vocês duas! São dois mil reais! Você acha que eu vou ganhar isso ficando aqui bebendo com esse povo? Não, né? Então me passa logo as chaves e me deixa em paz!

O homem irritado saiu da festa sem ao menos se despedir de alguém. Entrou no carro e seguiu rumo à distante Vitória da Conquista. Havia bebido um pouco sim, mas nada que o impedisse de dirigir. Rodou por uma, duas, três horas. Já estava bem distante de casa quando sofreu o acidente. Dormiu ao volante e rolou ribanceira abaixo. A estrada, que escolhera para cortar caminho, era extremamente deserta, e ninguém testemunhou o acidente. Dorival ficou preso nas ferragens, a perna esmagada pelo painel do veículo. Sangrava muito. Gritava em busca de ajuda, mas aquela estrada que escolhera era realmente muito deserta. As horas foram passando trazendo à noite, que teimou em ir embora, mas acabou cedendo espaço para a manhã ensolarada. Havia perdido tanto sangue que os lábios chegaram a ficar da cor da pele, que já estava mais pálida que o usual.

Foi quando ouviu o barulho pela primeira vez. Era agudo, repetitivo, e parecia cada vez mais perto. o rosto chegou a corar em animação, na esperança de estar ouvindo a sirene de uma ambulância. Sim! Era uma sirene. Alguma alma santa testemunhara o acidente e chamara os paramédicos. Torceu para que tivessem chamado os bombeiros também. Só com a ajuda deles poderia ser resgatado de dentro daquele automóvel. Chegou a lamentar consigo o fato de dificilmente, depois daquele acidente, poder voltar a jogar futebol, mas aí lembrou que não o fazia mesmo há quase 3 anos. Foi então que o som ficou bem próximo. Já não parecia mais uma sirene, mas ainda era um som repetitivo e agudo. Só então avistou um urubu parado do lado de fora do carro. E mais um. E mais outro. E mais dez. Todos o olhavam com a mesma intensidade com que um garoto de rua encara a vitrine de um restaurante. Famintos. Pacientes. Decididos. Não havia escutado uma sirene, mas sim o crocitar de inúmeros urubus, à espreita, só esperando sua morte para atacar. Assim como ele havia feito no dia em que deixara seu cartão na casa daquela vizinha. Então, percebeu que a mulher acertara ao lhe chamar de urubu naquele dia, e por triste ironia do destino, em breve, seria devorado por uma porção deles. Foi perdendo as forças, sentiu a vida esvaindo-se de seu corpo, até que as luzes de seus olhos se apagaram para sempre. Mas não antes de sentir a primeira bicada.

My knuckles have a sharp ache from RA. My shoulders have a constant nag from my recent bizarre sleeping habits. I've been caught numerous times this month asleep while half in and out of bed sitting fully upright. Also, I've been found with my legs straight in the air. I've been crouching, kneeling, contorting every which way to escape the impending doom of RA tearing through my joints.

I don't mind the needle injections of enbrel. It is my only hope at this point to be able to do my type of work. My mom recently told my aunt that I would probably be dead if it weren't for my passion to work. I have a deep need to be here on this earth.

I'm proud of Jax that he could go away tonight and not worry so much that he stayed home. He needs his own life. Plus, it's a bonus for me to get his kisses and attention when he's home. I admit that my work often forces me to ignore that he's here for several hours each evening.

But I can't help craving the one thing I can't have with him right now - sex. We make up for it in many ways with adventures and sundays off from the world, but he still fears I am too fragile, to breakable for that. Now that so much time has passed it's actually grown into another beast all together. I have chilled out about it and I do know it will all come back together...but I'm impatient and curious as hell and want to know when. Will he ever be able to push me against a doorway again?

Will I ever be able to go without pain meds for a full day? For half a day? (For my pancreatitis not the RA). No one has any idea how long I can keep these demons from chasing me. I long can I hold them off of me? Will I let a moment of humaness get me again and put me right back into the hospital? Haven't I done my time?

At least my friends and colleagues are past the phase of trying to force me to see their doctors or to see this or that quack. Do they think I'm a lost cause? Or... The reality is that I probably refuse to allow myself to complain about it enough for them to understand the severity of it all. They just see me limp and watch my expressions carefully, afraid I'll bite their heads off if they bring it up.

I'd love to be able to go to my own funeral. How much did I really hide from them all?
--love, Sasha xoxo

Also, the family is currently accepting donations to cover the funeral and medical expenses.  You can donate to the Todd Doxey Memorial Fund by sending money to:

The information is

Check Payable to: The Todd Doxey Memorial Fund

The University of Oregon

Athletic Department

Attention: Bill Clever

2727 Leo Harris Parkway

Eugene, Or  97401

to hide your
puffy eyes

to look, perhaps, like you
have it together

to stare at mourners you're sure you know
trying to puzzle out their names

to keep from having to contort
a face tired of bereaving

to avoid the sun
and sky

to close your eyes
and imagine still being with

to avoid the trained sympathy
of funeral professionals

to keep the regret
locked away inside

You're wearing sunglasses
at a funeral
so you don't have to see

-2008/07/17-

"Finally, Mitford offers a glimmer of hope, a cheap light at the end of the tunnel: she supplies contacts to a load of organizations that provide, or at the very least help find, affordable funerals. And in case you're wondering-- though this wasn't in the book-- Mitford's own funeral cost a mere $533.31. What a bargain!"

Check out the link here:

http://bookmineset.blogspot.com/

You can still do a funeral with a net funeral cost at that price.

You still can find help with an affordable funeral Just as Jessica did. Lower the average cost of a funeral here:

Rest in Peace: Insider’s Tips to the Low Cost Less Stress Funeral by R Brian Burkhardt and Matt Bacak. #1 International Best Selling Author Jason Oman also gave thumbs up to this book. This book is published by Morgan James Publishing.

Your Funeral Guy, R Brian Burkhardt, Funeral Director, Author, Blogger, State of Illinois

The “Google Books Search” give a look inside the book.

http://books.google.com/books?q=r+brian+burkhardt&btnG=Search+Books

Be sure to let me know about your lower cost funeral.

And this Rest in Peace Book has been called the 21st century "The American Way of Death" the author believes Jessica Mitford did the better job.

UBUD, Indonesia — In a roar of orange flame, the body of Agung Suyasa, head of the royal family of Ubud, was reduced to its earthly elements on Tuesday, liberating his soul to fly upward, in a spray of sparks, through the night sky to the heavens.

All were on a journey of purification and renewal in which, according to Balinese tradition, the soul can return to inhabit a new being, generally a member of the same family, until, once again, it is freed through cremation.

Whooping and laughing, sometimes breaking into a run, the porters swung the platform crazily from right to left to confuse the spirits.

Along with it came a huge, undulating dragon, terrifying to behold with its bulging eyes and splayed teeth. After that came a giant black, wood bull, hung with gold necklaces, that would serve as the sarcophagus at the cremation.

“Strange as it seems, it is in their cremation ceremonies that the Balinese have their greatest fun,” wrote Miguel Covarrubias in his classic work, “Island of Bali,” published in 1937.

“A cremation is an occasion for gaiety and not for mourning, since it represents the accomplishment of their most sacred duty” to liberate the souls of the dead, he wrote.

எலி பாஷாணத்தை உண்ட மயக்கமோ? வாழ்வின் இறுதி நிமிடங்களோ? நட்டநடுவில் அனாதையாக எலி. நானும் இன்ன பிறரும் ட்ரெயினைப் பிடிக்கும் அவசரத்தில் ஓடிக் கொண்டிருந்தோம்.

அந்தப் பெண்மணிக்கும் இரவு தாமதமாகிய எட்டு மணி காண்பிக்கும் கடிகாரம் இருந்தது. சக பயணி குப்பையாகப் போட்ட பேப்பர் கவரை எடுத்தார். கையால் மிக லாவகமாக எலியை எடுத்து அதனுள் நகற்றினார்.

இறக்கும் நிமிடங்களில் எலிக்கு கௌரவம். கையறு நிலையில் இருந்து அடக்கமான உறக்கம்.

While working for several of these corporate funeral homes. I observed them often exchanging staff to be competitive and creating disloyalty among funeral directors. The proposed merger will probably create a funeral firing squad. It will be a human relations nightmare. It shows trouble in the funeral industry!

The Low Cost funeral will become more available by others as this SCI offer shows the trouble the funeral industry is in. Green Funerals, Green Burials, and the low cost funeral will become more acceptable options to the General Public. Many of these funeral folks may have to open and operate in facilities with low cost funeral options and even more dignity and respect for you!

Dealing with corporate funeral homes and their funeral costs should not stop you from getting a dignified funeral at lower cost! Find out more information here on lowering the average cost of a funeral.

Rest in Peace: Insider’s Tips to the Low Cost Less Stress Funeral by R Brian Burkhardt and Matt Bacak. #1 International Best Selling Author Jason Oman also gave thumbs up to this book. This book is published by Morgan James Publishing.

Your Funeral Guy, R Brian Burkhardt, Funeral Director, Author, Blogger, State of Illinois

In the most spectacular royal funeral in Bali in at least three decades, the energy, mysticism and creativity of this Hindu island came together in the mass cremation of three royal figures and 68 commoners.

Read More

Since the tragedy last year or so, the ways of the Amish have aroused my interest. The author sheds a bit of light on the topic of Amish funerals, which to me makes more sense, for afterall, if you are indeed right with God, then the service is not about you, as people will see you again, but God.

Other weblogs covering Mr. Grady's passing:

• Chevron Says... (and a memorial, "The Devout Educator," available here)
  
• Perpetual Priest
• The Expatriate

Last summer Mr. Grady and I sat down for what became a several-hour interview conducted over the course of two evenings. Ever the firebrand and unafraid of controversy, he was very candid with me, readily sharing his strongest opinions, both hopeful and pessimistic, about the past and future of La Salle and American liberal arts education. I must confess, I was then and remain now strongly likeminded with his educational radicalism, which, rather than becoming vitiiated with age and cancer, had grown more strident.

Mr. Grady's philosophy of higher education was profoundly shaped by John Henry Cardinal Newman's book, The Scope and Nature of University Education, which I immediately purchased after the interview. I've read portions of it, and I must say, I can sense its imprint upon him. In the interview he described the purpose of honors programs as refuges for "the life of the mind" and as cultivators of "well-rounded, free-minded citizens" who would be capable of acting independently as mature, spiritual adults in democratic society. He expressed that never were such individuals as important as during eras like today, when democracy seems to be dangerously slouching toward its shadow-side.

The fourth discourse of Newman's book, entitled "Its Own End," seems to have been the origins of this dialectic between mind and body/scholar and citizen within Grady's philosophy. Newman concluded the discourse with this remarkable final comment:

The moralist will tell us that man, in all his functions, is but a flower which blossoms and fades, except so far as a higher principle breathes upon him, and makes him and what he is immortal. Body and mind are carried on into an eternal state of being by the gifts of divine munificence; but at first they do but fail in a failing world; and if the powers of intellect decay, the powers of the body have decayed before them, and, as an hospital or an alms-house, though its end be ephemeral, may be sanctified to the service of religion, so surely may a university, even were it nothing more than I have as yet described it [above in the rest of the discourse]. We attain to heaven by using this world well, though it is to pass away; we perfect our nature, not by undoing it, but by adding to it what is more than nature, and directing it towards aims higher than its own.

Thus was Mr. Grady's life, whatever its faults and strengths: over three decades in service to the idea of the American Catholic university and the La Sallian tradition.

In this way, too, he was distinctly La Sallian, for age and disease did not mean fear or petrification. As with Dr. Kerlin and many of the university's older faculty, the passage of time has meant the progressive deepening of a "couldn't care less" attitude to naysayers and nitpickers in the pursuit of education, edification, and challenging young minds. I'm left to wonder how much of the intellectual zeal of myself and my friends was born innately of ourselves, or brought out and forged by La Salle. If nothing else, Mr. Grady and our professors provided us the wide and fertile space to explore ourselves, guiding us with well-timed hot pokes and prods.

I strongly recommend Newman's book by its own right for all of us who desire to become professors and college administrators. An unknown sage has made it available for free on Google Books (click on the link above or Grady's photo).

As it happens, my interview was probably the longest and most in-depth ever conducted with the man. Two copies currently exist: one in my personal possession and one currently stored in the La Salle archives. I intend to make another copy for the Grady family. Additionally, I will also seek permission to make it available for download from my website. In the meantime, you may contact the head of the archives, Brother Joe Grabenstein: 215.951.1294 or grabenst {at} lasalle {dot} edu.

The interview was the fruit of Dr. Barbara Allen's course in oral history methodology, part of La Salle's graduate program in history. If I may, I'd like to end this post by saying all the interviews of important La Sallians that have been conducted as part of the course have done an invaluable service not only for the students, but for the university itself.

After that, I felt morbid. It's sad having a fundraiser to be able to pay for one's funeral.

A Croatian man claims to have set a world record after attending more than 2,000 funerals.

..........................

Sick and intrusive. What a jerk.

In Fact the actions of these two corporations and their unwillingness to let consumers know their rights was a large part of the reason the 21st century "Rest in Peace." was written. If you read this work you can walk out with a lower cost funeral at any SCI or Stewart Enterprises Funeral Home. The author guarantees it. SCI is the major funeral corporation and along with Stewart Enterprises.

Stewart Enterprises rejected SCI's bid to buy the company in a deal valued at $881.7 million and others value it at 1.3 billion. SCI said they might up the bid. SCI said they are likely to give another the offer.

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ap/business/5887838.html

These corporations are famous for keeping family names on funeral homes and selling funerals for high prices. Usually these folks will not help you with a lower cost funeral. If you check out this book you will find help in planning a low cost funeral and walk away paying much less.

Rest in Peace: Insider’s Tips to the Low Cost Less Stress Funeral by R Brian Burkhardt and Matt Bacak. #1 International Best Selling Author Jason Oman also gave thumbs up to this book. This book is published by Morgan James Publishing.

Your Funeral Guy, R Brian Burkhardt, Funeral Director, Author, Blogger, State of Illinois

Estate Planning is Important
http://www.thriftyfun.com/tf43001181.tip.html

There will be a viewing at the Geitner, Givnish Funeral Home, 5th Street and Chelten Avenue, Philadelphia, on Thursday, July 17, beginning at 7 PM.

 On Friday, July 18, there will be a viewing beginning at 9 AM in the De La Salle Chapel on the La Salle University campus, to be followed by a funeral mass at 11:00 AM. 

The University hopes to have the Honors Center open between 9 AM and 10:30 AM on Friday, July 18, as well as after the service.

John Grady was the Director of La Salle's Honors Program for 39 years. His presence will be dearly missed on campus.