......

THE SUN SHONE SO BRIGHTLY THIS MORNING, I was almost giddy.



When I stepped out onto the kitchen porch, the rushing creek far below was sparklingly visible, which I well should have known was due to its swollen condition--which in turn was due to the solid day of rain we received in these parts on the Sabbath.








As I left the house in my euphoric condition, I simply was not thinking of impromptu lakes! A detour was imperative.


Hmm, I tried my best to think of some clever and applicable life analogy, as I turned the car around and headed up the road. But...Nope! You'll have to scrounge for something yourself, Dear Reader of mine.

(I do hope the sun is shining on you as you contemplate this.)


......

...

SO, YESTERDAY I WAS FRANTICALLY TOSSING around my options as to who would dig this grave for me (not my grave, you know; it was a grave for my tenants. Of course, they would not be lying in this opening in the earth, either [just to reassure you, Dear Reader, in the event a severe grimace is starting to form on your face, and you are fearing for my welfare--not to mention the welfare of my tenants!] It would be the rabbit loved by my tenants laid to rest here; but that was only going to happen if I could find someone to wield the shovel!)

WHO am I going to call upon?! I tell Mary and her husband I will find someone to dig this grave, and walk up to the parking lot, intending to knock on the door of Dave, the tenant who occasionally does landscaping jobs for me. Surely he'll be willing. But, alas, I see his vehicle is not in the lot.

What to do?! What to do?! I fish my cell phone out of my pocket as I'm mentally scanning my roster of tenants, and suddenly I recall there's a message waiting for me on this phone. Back when it rang--an hour or so ago--I was just too busy to answer. Hmm, I hate to keep the bereaved couple waiting, but... I quickly punch the numbers to retrieve my message.

It's Josh, Apartment Fifteen...."Could you call me back at your earliest convenience?" he asks.

Ah! Josh! This tenant is young and strong. As fast as I can, I ring the number, and pray he's right there behind door Fifteen. He answers the phone, and thanks me for calling. I'm hoping he gets to the point quickly. He hems and haws just a bit, but then says: "This may sound a little strange, and I'm ashamed to admit it, but the other day I got so angry I punched a hole in the wall. I'm really sorry!"Before I could stop myself, I giggled. I just couldn't help myself--this made TWO landlording firsts on the very same Saturday morning! Quickly recovering, however, I allowed as how this was no laughing matter. We discussed the repairs, and Josh asked if I wished to view the damage. "Well," I said. "I happen to be right here in the parking lot. I guess I could come in and take a look, but...(here I paused briefly, Dear Reader, as I thought how best to word my request)...

"This may sound a little strange," I said...

Ten minutes later there are four persons in attendance as I lower the body into the ground. Josh has done an admirable job of digging the grave. "Just let me put my shoes on," he'd said. "I'll be right out!" And then, as he had shoveled up the earth, the four of us had discussed the logistics...the needed length and width, the depth. Josh was having trouble with tree roots and rocks. The soil was hard. I envisioned a black-suited man from the NFDA*, gazing at me and sadly shaking his head.

But, now...Mary has handed me the box. I stoop with it to test the opening.

"Wait," says Josh. "Maybe I can get those edges a little cleaner." He tidies up the grave and I place the box inside. Mary kneels to help me. With a little shifting around, we are able to make it fit. The grave is shallow, but we know that this obliging tenant with the shovel has already had a good workout; it will have to do.

"That should be fine," I say, standing up. And Mary stands up, too. Briefly there is a pause. I know that Yikes, now what?! would not be a proper sentiment to express, so I skip those words. I don't say, "Am I still directing?" Nor do I ask if a eulogy is planned. But, finally, I ask Mary's husband, "Would you like to cover the box?" and he takes the shovel and plunges it into the loose soil that Josh has dug up. He tosses the shovelful onto the white cardboard box. Again and again he does this, working so strenuously that now I suddenly fear for his health--oh, goodness, spare me THREE landlording firsts today! He's really exerting himself, huffing and puffing, and he's not a young man.

...
I'll just tell you quickly, Dear Reader, it all ended well. Josh helped to finish the shoveling, then tramped and tamped the dirt well. We placed a medium-sized rock atop (one he'd unearthed while digging the grave). Then heartfelt thank-you's were said, and we all left Missy to R.I.P. *

....
*But then, you see, that's what worried me--Suppose she should not be Resting In Peace when next I happened to see this grave?



I came home, Dear Reader, and gathered up one of the concrete stepping stones that lay beside the porch of The Yard Man and me--the one with the flowers etched on the top. I hauled it to the apartments, to the evergreen tree. When I set it in place on the freshly-dug earth beneath the evergreen boughs, I could see that NFDA member again in my mind's eye...now gently nodding his approval.

......
(Yes, Dear Reader, that would be: National Funeral Directors Association)

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...



THE OPERATIC MUSIC PLAYING ON the car radio didn't sound funereal, I mused. And here I was, on my way to help do a burial, a shovel on the back seat of my car.



Mary (is what I'll call her) and her husband have been my most enduring tenants. When I was a complete greenhorn of a landlord, they were there. And so was their pet bunny--their dear little Muffy (fake name, as well). "Yes," I had told them. "Yes, of course you can keep your dear Muffy. There's a 'No Pets' policy for all others, but you can keep Muffy."

It was a few years later that Mary had sorrowfully informed me--Muffy had died. "We had to have her cremated," she said, "since we had no place to bury her."

"Oh," I said, "I'm so sorry. There are lots of places here on the property where she could have been buried."
........


That was eleven long years ago--eleven years during which another little rabbit (I'll call her Missy) frisked and played and grew quite old in the apartment of Mary and her husband. (Yes, yes, I had said, for all others, it's still 'no pets'; but for you, I'll allow another rabbit.)

Now this morning Mary had left me a message on my little white business phone. "We have to take Missy and have her put to sleep," she said, her voice filled with grief. "She cried so much last night, and she's in so much pain." She paused. "I was wondering if we could bury her here at the apartments. I remember what you said when Muffy died...."

I remembered it, too. "Of course," I called to assure her.

"Well, we're leaving right now," Mary said, when I spoke to her. "We'll probably be back in an hour. Can you come and show us where...? And...um.......we don't have a shovel."

"I'll be there at noon," I said.

And so it was, Dear Reader, that I found myself contemplating the loud operatic music and mulling over possible burial spots as I headed for the apartments.
......






Fifteen minutes later, Mary and her husband and I are standing at a spot we have jointly chosen for Missy's eternal resting place.
It seems ideal to me--under the boughs of an evergreen tree, out of the way of lawnmowers, and only a stone's throw from the front door of those who are grieving her passing.

Yes, we have settled on the spot. And I have the shovel. Mary is tenderly holding Missy in the white cardboard box--(Such a nice box! she says. So nice of them to give it to us!). But... hmm...Mary's husband has a bad back. And...hmm, the soil contains a lot of clay.

I'm struck with the sudden realization that I am the funeral director here. And, Dear me, I have no one to dig the grave! (That Yard Man of mine is not available, but he had offered this helpful advice as I fetched the shovel from the storage shed--The most important thing is, make sure the hole is DEEP! You don't want some animal digging up that bunny!

(I'll have to continue this later, Reader Dear. I'm frantically pondering this unexpected hole--I mean role--I've dug for myself.)

......


......

......


SPEAKING OF FILMS. My Yard Man watched the Academy Awards ceremony on TV with me last weekend. We took note of the movies that won awards, and there were quite a few we had not seen. It may have been a contributing factor when he called me on his cell phone in the late afternoon today to suggest that we go see a movie. "Sure!" I said. "Which one do you have in mind?"

Well, me and this man who has six mares and a stallion, we decided to see the movie with the most horses. It was True Grit. "There's a showing at 5:25," the Yard Man told me, studying the schedule of movies playing at the multiplex cinema just a few miles away. "Are you ready to go?"

I glanced at the clock. It was 5:17. Now, fortunately, slap-dash is a trait that we sometimes share, that Yard Man and I. "I'm ready! I said, and ran for my coat.

"We can go eat somewhere after the movie," the Yard Man suggested, as we sped toward the theater. He dropped me at the door, parked the car as I bought the tickets. Can you believe it, Reader Dear, we didn't miss one minute of that movie!



Except...hmm...that's not quite the truth. I guess I missed a minute or two when that man shot that man and...his mouth...aagh...well, it was when I had my eyes squeezed shut and had a vice-like grip on the hand of that Yard Man. And then again when that girl fell into that...and there was that...inside that...(more muffled noises I can't reproduce)...



But here's the thing, Reader Dear, it's a very good movie. You'll have to see it for yourself...I recommend all but a minute or two.



And then--if you wish to make up for the moments you missed while your eyes were squinched shut--you can do as I did, and watch to the very tail end. (Although, it's best if whoever accompanies you has not been deprived of popcorn as the two of you streaked through the theater lobby; and has already eaten dinner, so as not to be standing hungrily by the exit door as the long credits roll!)

...

......

I DID NOT GET TO FILM THE LITTLE ACTOR with his great-grandmother yesterday; but tonight, when the yard man and I had the high honor of keeping company with the little celebrity while his usual caretakers went out for the evening, he agreed to let me go into production mode almost immediately. The outcome--our latest joint movie (a trilogy):
Grandfather Laughs.
(And what a coup for this producer-director, the role of grandfather was played by the Little Actor's actual grandpoppy!)

Part I--Grandfather Laughs



Part II--Grandfather is Highly Amused and
is Certain His Small Grandson is the Most
Clever Little Man Around



Part III--Oh, Those Goodnight Stories! The
Foot-High Stack of Books, and Grandmother's
Question and Grandfather's Answer: Well, He
Gave Me All These Books to Read--
He Just Kept Handing Me More and More
of Them!



(While it's true the movies' titles are rather lengthy,
I'm hopeful that will not be a deterrent when under
consideration for next year's Oscars.)
.......