Now the rest remains.
Bought three pairs of rubber gloves, a bag of cheese doodles and some chocolate. Tomorrow it's clean-up day at the croft. Plus making an inventory, look up all his papers, fetch the mail from the neighbours and then hopefully get on the last bus back to town. If I can find my way in the dark. Really wish I had a drivers license right now. Now that I need it. Maybe I can buy a moped at least, so I can get to the highway.
The funeral was really nice. About 15 of his friends and former colleagues came. Some of them had worked with him for 35 years. He had a routine with one of his friends to eat dinner every wednesday out on a restaurant. ..and one day he didn't show up
- He showed me your letters from Africa.
- He always spoke his mind.
One woman said.
I did sing too. A slow version of Carolas 'Stranger'.
The priest was also a bit special. He talked a lot about Christian values and that Jesus is waiting, which is completely according to funeralistic discourse, but then he thanked the Director for making it all possible.
In the paradoxical spacetime continuum you never know what you did, where you are or even who only that everything is possible, but I know one thing: director is a word I can identify with.