Orville is Dead, but the Hills are Alive

Orville Ferguson died last week. He was 87 and had been a bachelor all of his life. That didn't stop him from loving the ladies, though. Tall, short, skinny, fat--they were all beautiful to him. He was a good-looking guy, too, and because of that and the way he loved the ladies, he seldom had to cook a meal for himself. Those ladies brought desserts, bread, casseroles, stews, soups, vegetables, and other edibles to him on a daily basis, each current member of his harem trying to outdo the others with her "special" recipe that she secretly hoped would win his heart.

After Orville died, a lady-like fight broke out over who would plan the funeral, because he had no living relatives left on the face of the earth. Flora wanted a "high church" funeral for him, complete with lilies and organ music. Merle Ann said a low-key, private burial (with her the only attendant?) funeral would be what Orville would have wanted. Pearl said she'd settle for nothing less than the finest coffin in old man Wheeler's funeral home and some of that fancy "hi-fi music" the funeral home provided at no cost. Myrtle said no, it wouldn't do to have recorded music when everybody knew that Delia, the piano teacher, would play AND sing at no charge for Orville's service. (Delia, a widow woman, had once been a harem member, but her living children convinced her that following Orville around like a child following the Pied Piper was an unsuitable activity for someone who’d been born a Weatherspoon.) Old man Wheeler just wanted the harem to get out of his funeral parlor so that he could sort out who might have the legal right to take care of the burial. As it turned out, no one did, and the ladies, under the umbrella of "doing the right thing," did take over the planning and payment for putting Orville away. Even the only minister in town couldn't stop that train wreck from happening.

 So, the ladies stopped their cat-fighting long enough to take up a collection to help pay for Orville's funeral. He'd left no will, and the only money he had was apparently what was discovered in an empty lard tin sitting in his cellar. Not much was there, not nearly enough to meet the expenses of what the ladies had planned; donations from the harem were needed to bridge the gap between the dream and the reality. And so, the ladies began the planning.

Because the cost of providing Orville with the best casket, the #304 All Oak and Brass, Satin-Lined, Hermetically-Sealing Gasket, Waterproof model, was out of the question, the #132 White Pine and Aluminum, Polyester-Lined, Rust-Proof Hinges model was selected instead. The ladies agreed that the polyester lining was of the best quality and looked for all the world like silk. Imagine that! But what about the flowers? A spirited discussion revealed two schools of thought about floral arrangements. Two of the ladies wanted the whitest of lilies with just a bit of greenery to set off the whiteness. The other two ladies said nothing but red roses, and lots of them, would do. After all, hadn't they all received roses from Orville at one time or another, which proved beyond a doubt that he liked roses? And the music . . . ahhhhh, the music. It turned out that Delia was so broken-up over Orville's death that she said she couldn't manage to get a note out of the piano or a song out of her throat. She'd "break up," that's what she'd do, so don't even ask her to provide music or song.

The funeral home had an old Casio keyboard that could be programmed to provide everything from reggae to organ music, but ever since lightning knocked out the power to the whole town months ago, that keyboard wouldn't produce so much as a squeak. So, techno-music was out, too.  In desperation, the harem produced stacks of 8-track tapes (and wonder-of-wonders, old man Wheeler still had an 8-track player for use in the funeral home!). For hours on end, the ladies sipped tea, nibbled on cookies, and listened to various music to find something suitable for Orville's funeral. Old man Wheeler tried to hurry the process along, because the tea and cookie supply came out of his pocket, not the funeral home money, and the ladies didn't appear to have lost their appetites even though they'd lost Orville.

Finally, the funeral day arrived. The ladies were dressed in various shades of black. Yes, various shades of it, from the rusty black of old, old funeral-suitable dresses to the bright, new black of specially-purchased-for-the-occasion dresses. Old man Wheeler had vacuumed the red indoor-outdoor carpet (so practical) in the entry and down the main aisle of the funeral parlor. The pall-bearers, Orville's old play-dominoes-and-gossip group members, had moved the #132, covered with a bizarre arrangement of roses and lilies, down the aisle and onto the guerney provided for it at the front of the room. Old man Wheeler asked the mourners to stand for an opening prayer. Then the featured music began playing through the crackling speakers on either side of the room.  The sound of music began.  Literally . Yes, the soundtrack from The Sound of Music blasted forth, beginning with "The Hills are Alive," and playing through 3 or 4 more songs, including the well-known "Doe, a Deer, a Female Deer," until the tape apparently broke (in the middle of a song, too).   I guess the gatherers would have heard the whole musical if that hadn't happened.

The funeral had begun.