Fernwood
From the moment I was handed the name of the crematorium? Fernwood? Echos from a distant past, something to do with California, in the first place, Fernwood Tonight, anyone?
Blank stares. You’re not my people. I never knew the TV show its self as it was way before my time, but as a cultural artifact, that’s there.
Couple of items: when I drove my sister over the hill to get the ashes, cf., Valkyrie Air, the way the bereaved treat the ashes is always a little weird to the left-over living.
“I think we should strap her in the back seat,” Sister suggested.
Wouldn’t want anyone to steal her, a car parked with a package in the backseat, bet some one would steal that package only to discover it is no value to any but certain folks still living.
“But she’ll get hot in the trunk.”
Bone In
After we got back, Sister told me where to place the box, then complained that her wife had gotten carsick from the ride, stuck in the trunk and all. I reminded her, the late Linda wasn’t green but ashen.
Anyway, the Fernwood Crematorium and Cemetery? No idea about the cemetery but the facilities are really rather lovely, and the workers were amazing from collecting the body to allowing extra time for the small but extended-play memorial service, to the point of letting a number of people watch as the box was shoved in the furnace.
A note about the box itself? Cardboard box, then earthly vessel therein, but as part of the memorial, a number of crayons, colored pens and other artistic tools were laid out, and everyone was encouraged to doodle, draw, or otherwise inscribe a message for the fallen. Send her off in style. A pair kids were there, like — the next-door neighbors — typical kids, shy and not understanding the whole solemn affair, but with markers in hand? The kids did the send-off in style. The way it was intended.
Fernwood, in Tam Junction or Mill Valley, or I don’t know because it all runs together in my mind? Great place.
Get roasted there. Then get toasted at the Siren Canteen. By the Death Doulas.
