Today is Sunday, January 25 and there are only 70 days until Easter.  Time to get the decorations up and the eggs dyed.  It is the birthday of Benedict Arnold, Virginia Wolfe and Etta James.  On this day in 1775 Americans dragged cannon up a hill to fight the British at Gun Hill Road, Bronx, in 1890 Nellie Bly beat Phileas Fogg’s time around the world by eight days and in 1985 “We Are the World” was recorded.  It is 2^nd Republic Day in Uganda.  This is the only holiday today, so if you are looking for a day to create a holiday, this would be the one.

The other day, the lovely Elaine and I jumped firmly into the 20^th century by cooking our first dinner using a crock pot.  We have talked about it in the past, but never got around to purchasing one.  I think part of the reason is that she did not like the idea of having something cooking all day while we were not home.  She finally gave in to the idea and we got one; although I am sure she will only use it when one of us is going to be home the whole time it is cooking.

We bought the crock pot last week and it has been sitting in the kitchen taunting me since then.  I finally found a pulled pork recipe on, of all places, Pinterest (no Smiley, I am not planning a wedding), that sounded good and decided to give it a try.  I put the whole thing together, plugged it in, set it for the time I wanted and then just walked away.  I have to admit that I was a bit apprehensive doing a 4.5 pound piece of pork.  I wondered what I would do if, after all that time cooking, it was still pink inside.  The cooking time ended, I took out the meat and it was cooked through.  The pork was delicious.  I made my favorite barbecue sauce and some sweet and sour slaw and we had a delicious dinner.  There was even enough meat left over for margarita night sometime.

Last week we attended a birthday party for our neighbor.  This was one of those parties where you feel you should go because she is our neighbor, our sons started school together and there was free food, but you also know that you will spend the evening sitting at a table with people you don’t know, wondering when the cake will be served so you can leave.  We were seated at the Island of Misfit Toys – the table with people who have no connection to each other or to any of the other groups, either.  It actually turned out to be a very nice evening.

The other couples were very nice and we started to talk about things.  The lovely Elaine and I told them about our trips to New Orleans and Myrtle Beach.  One of the other couples talked about various cruises they had been on and that they were going to New Orleans to take a cruise in the next week or so.  We suggested some things for them to do in the couple days they had before the cruise left.  Another person, a musician, said he has always wanted to go to New Orleans and we encouraged him to go.  We all shared stories of our various trips and talked about a number of different things.

One of the items that came up was funerals.  We all agreed that we disliked wakes.  It was generally felt that they were created to bring a group of people together in a room where they could look at a dead person and feel uncomfortable.  We felt that the key part of the wake was finding a way to leave before the priest arrived, without it looking like that was what we were doing.  One of the people mentioned that they did not like the way a relative had been made up.  I agreed and said that, when my mother was laid out, she looked like a harlot.  I told them that I wanted to go around to the various funeral homes now and have them make me up so I could see who did the best job.  The last thing I want is to look like a harlot.

Someone else said they wanted one of those jazz funerals.  I said that I did, too.  I told them that there is a group in New Jersey that does those and that you can find them on the web.  I also explained my ideas for my wake.  I have told the lovely Elaine that I want a smirk on my face.  When most people are laid out, their mouth sags and they look like they have gas.  I do not want that.  She has agreed to my wardrobe request and will have me wearing one of my Hawaiian shirts.  Where she has drawn the line is that she will not have a whoopee cushion under the pad on the kneeling bench by the casket.  I won’t go into all the details of my plans, but will mention that I want there to be a party.  Come to the funeral home to satisfy yourself that I have, in fact, passed and then go down the block to the bar for the party.  I want my obit to say, “In lieu of flowers, please donate to the cost of the party.”

When I said that, someone wondered what a funeral home would do if we requested to have a bar set up in the room, during the wake.  We all agreed that it would be great to have a small combo playing quietly in one corner, maybe small tables with snacks and the bar.  That would be the one time I would not balk at going to a wake, nor would anyone care about leaving before the priest arrived.  “Hey father, belly up to the coffin, say a couple prayers and have a drink.” 

By this time, coffee and cake were being served.  We were all surprised at how quickly the evening passed.  I doubt that we will see any of those people again, but we enjoyed their company that night.

This week our fact tells us that Gorgias of Epirus was born during his mother’s funeral.  He was born in his dead mother’s coffin and the pallbearers heard him crying out as they carried her to the grave.  They stopped to figure out the sound coming out of the coffin and they discovered little Gorgias.  Were they sure she was dead?