Jesus, Get the Phone. I Mean, Actual Jesus, Not Taking His Name in Vain Jesus.

If you've kept up with some of my posts, you likely know that my darling sis died last month. Ovarian cancer. Ugly, awful, painful and she was all the things you would expect her to be. Because she is the opposite of me and has every good quality you could possibly imagine. Her service was last Saturday.

She had selected the music for the service and had a specific idea of what she wanted, so we did our best to deliver. I'd hate to think she was watching us, thinking, "What the hey? Why is the choir singing 'Dance,Dance' and making jazz hands? I do not recall writing down that particular selection." So we behaved.

Songs are sung, readings are read, and then it's time for the near and dear to say a few words. I knew already that no matter what I planned, I would divert and say something else. So I did and I did. I managed to say something (I hear it was recorded; I suspect that will be the only way I will know what I actually said.) Then it was someone else's turn.

Church is quiet, speaker commands attention, talks about sister dear's love for music. Suddenly, notes are heard throughout the church. Quietly at first, then persistently louder. Because. A. Cell.Phone. Is. Ringing. Speaker tries to ignore, but it is just too obvious. The Bach Minuet seems to go on endlessly until someone frantically puts it out of its misery. Nervous laughter. Speaker makes lovely kind comment and audience plays along, laughing. From my perch behind the speaker, I confess. Yes, that was my phone. Thank you to my daughter for scrambling to snatch it out of my purse and thanks to my lovely niece for shutting it off. Apparently, I continue to celebrate my sister in the same way I have done my whole life: I am, in fact, a total goober.

The service, by the way, was perfect. As her best friend said in her remarks, sometimes things do not turn out the way you planned.