These pipers are not from a military service but from the intimate, traditional, and highly satisfying memorial service we gave to honor my aunt on Friday. Still, they seem an appropriate image for this weekend. Like Grim, I have been ailing significantly (I hope he doesn't have the ugly bug I caught), and am just now creeping out among the living after a week of needing an hour's nap to recover from every ten minutes spent vertical. I'm getting old. The obituary notices of my contemporaries, or even their children, are starting to come with astounding regularity, another just this weekend. A Memorial weekend indeed.
There's nothing like pipes at a funeral. The snare drum was an indispensable addition as well. We stuck to the King James version of the service, not only to suit my stodgy tastes but in honor of my old-fashioned aunt, who was born in 1915 and never really got used to the modernized Book of Common Prayer. Doris Elizabeth Kilpatrick Watts, R.I.P.