We buried Mom today.

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{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2014_02_14",
 "createdAt": "1392414000000",
 "date": "2014-02-14T21:40:00.000Z",
 "body": "We buried Mom today.\n\nAbout 140 people at Our Saviour's, which for a woman of eighty-seven, on a Friday in February, at four below zero, is a compliment she would have noted. What is left of the Ladies Aid sat together in the fourth pew on the left, where they always did. Vi came from Bethel Ridge in the van with two aides.\n\nJudy read the lesson. I had been asked, and I had said I could not, which is the first time I have said that about reading aloud since the first grade. I sat and looked at the exit sign on the back wall, a trick I teach children for the spelling bee.\n\nPastor Lindquist spoke about her for eight minutes and got her right: that she fed anyone who came to the door and then told them what they were doing wrong. People laughed, the kind of laugh you get in a church. We sang \"Children of the Heavenly Father,\" and at the second verse Walt took out his handkerchief.\n\nHannah is five and sat between Ellen and me. During the prayers she leaned over and whispered, \"Is Great-Grandma in the box, or is it just her outside?\" I said we would talk about it in the car.\n\nThe six grandchildren carried her: our three, Walt's two boys and Judy's daughter. Kate is five foot three and took a front corner. David had flown in Wednesday night and left Julia and the baby in Denver. From behind, in the dark coat, he looked very much like Dad.\n\nThen the drive to Coon Prairie, twenty-five cars with their lights on, down through Coon Valley past the farm. The new people have painted the barn. The cemetery was drifted and bright, with a green carpet laid over the snow and a tent, and the wind came straight across the ridge. It was short. It had to be. Hannah asked whether Great-Grandma would be cold, and Ellen knelt down in the snow in her good coat and answered her, better than I could have. Dad's stone has had Mom's name on it since 1998, with the one date. Now they will cut the other.\n\nLunch in the church basement: ham on buns, potato salad, three kinds of bars, my lefse, egg coffee, the smell of every funeral I have ever been to. People told me things about her I had not known. She drove the bookmobile route one winter, as a substitute, in 1961. Nobody ever told me that.\n\nR. drove us back to Walt's. In the driveway he turned off the engine and we sat. He said, \"She was hard on you and she was proud of you. Both.\" Then he came round and got my door.\n"
}

personas/retired-couple/records/journal-2011-2015.yaml:196

- id: journal-2014-02-14
  kind: journal_entry
  about: [dorothy-haugen]
  date: 2014-02-14 21:40
  body: |
    We buried Mom today.

    About 140 people at Our Saviour's, which for a woman of eighty-seven, on a Friday in February, at four below zero, is a compliment she would have noted. What is left of the Ladies Aid sat together in the fourth pew on the left, where they always did. Vi came from Bethel Ridge in the van with two aides.

    Judy read the lesson. I had been asked, and I had said I could not, which is the first time I have said that about reading aloud since the first grade. I sat and looked at the exit sign on the back wall, a trick I teach children for the spelling bee.

    Pastor Lindquist spoke about her for eight minutes and got her right: that she fed anyone who came to the door and then told them what they were doing wrong. People laughed, the kind of laugh you get in a church. We sang "Children of the Heavenly Father," and at the second verse Walt took out his handkerchief.

    Hannah is five and sat between Ellen and me. During the prayers she leaned over and whispered, "Is Great-Grandma in the box, or is it just her outside?" I said we would talk about it in the car.

    The six grandchildren carried her: our three, Walt's two boys and Judy's daughter. Kate is five foot three and took a front corner. David had flown in Wednesday night and left Julia and the baby in Denver. From behind, in the dark coat, he looked very much like Dad.

    Then the drive to Coon Prairie, twenty-five cars with their lights on, down through Coon Valley past the farm. The new people have painted the barn. The cemetery was drifted and bright, with a green carpet laid over the snow and a tent, and the wind came straight across the ridge. It was short. It had to be. Hannah asked whether Great-Grandma would be cold, and Ellen knelt down in the snow in her good coat and answered her, better than I could have. Dad's stone has had Mom's name on it since 1998, with the one date. Now they will cut the other.

    Lunch in the church basement: ham on buns, potato salad, three kinds of bars, my lefse, egg coffee, the smell of every funeral I have ever been to. People told me things about her I had not known. She drove the bookmobile route one winter, as a substitute, in 1961. Nobody ever told me that.

    R. drove us back to Walt's. In the driveway he turned off the engine and we sat. He said, "She was hard on you and she was proud of you. Both." Then he came round and got my door.