Wednesday, May 15, 2002

Hmmm... almost a month since I blogged. Where have I been? In motion.


After a few brief days in the Carolinas, I drove back to Florida, flew to Massachusetts, witnessed my sister's dance recital, then flew back to Jacksonville with my sister, Paul (her "sweetie") and Mom. We checked into our favorite beach house out at Jacksonville Beach, and proceeded to celebrate my Dad's' life. (Think cocktails, The Grinch, emails from engineers.) The bagpipe ceremony at the cemetery went really well, very relaxed and informal, although I think the cemetery rep was a little freaked by the "aloha attire." Not to mention the Grinch going into the vault along with the "cremains."


I hadn't realized that cremation had its own vocabulary. My personal favorite is "inurnment" (in-urn-ment), the act of placing the cremains in the urn, I would suppose.


Stobo Hyer Wright rests under grass at Greenlawn Cemetery, Jacksonville, Florida, along with his mom and dad, B.W. (Winn) and Estelle Hyer Wright, and his brother, B.W., Jr. ("B").


Or at least most of him does. We decanted (de-urned?) a good deal of him to scatter at his favorite spots around the globe, a trip still in its planning stages. Kay and I downloaded Dad into several Grinch baggies (originally intended for Christmas cookies) which are now stored, appropriately I think, in a Grinch lunchbox. Dad loved the Grinch.


The trip down to Jacksonville with Dad's ashes bordered on the surreal. Imagine, if you will, taking something that looks like a large metal depth-charge through security. ("Urn" is a relatively loose term; the container that the National Cremation Service provided for dad's ashes was a stainless-steel cylinder about a foot high. Looked like army ordanance.) We get to the security checkpoint in Manchester (NH) airport, and the guard says, "I've gotta open this up." We, of course, freak, because the airline told us in advance that all we needed to do was bring a death certificate, and carry the urn on. (You apparently can't check cremains.) The guy insists, and starts turning the thing over looking for a way in. "Well," I tell him, "you're gonna need a Phillips head screwdriver, because that bottom plate is screwed down." He calls over a supervisor, and eventually it turns out that he doesn't have to open it. The whole time the conversation is going on, the guard uses one finger to spin the canister around and around on its top. Dad's final case of sea-sickness.

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

My goal today is not to get behind the wheel of a car. I put 1500 miles on the Toyota in the past week - a whirlwind trip to Florida that included lots of gators, a few monsters of more recent origin (ie. disney), a visit to the family graveyard where I was attacked by fireants... and lots of water.

We stopped at Jacksonville Beach (Florida) on the way down, in my opinion one of the loveliest beaches in the state. The Army Corps of Engineers' plan finally paid off, after ruining the beach for decades; the sand is finally back, and dunes planted with sea grass protect the boardwalk. Big difference from the 15-foot-high sea wall of my youth (not to mention the cockroaches and rats).

Odd to be back in Jacksonville after so many years. We'll have my dad's memorial service here on May 7th.

Just now I'm in Durham, North Carolina, enjoying the dogwood and azaleas in full bloom. April's a beautiful time of the year to be here.