Aneki: One Last Samba

Ichty and Scratchy Show” on her PC so when she turned it on in the mornings it would play. It is time now to come up to the altar and make an offering of three pinches of incense.  This is always the hardest part, but I’ve done it several times and so try to do it in a way that Missy would like:  Nice martial bows and one, two pinches — and that’s as far as I go maintaining restraint.  I wobble through the third and step back to look at her photo.  It’s an enlargement of her company photo ID.  It has been at least 10 years since I have seen it, but I know it.  I return to the tent and have a long talk with yet another former IBM secretary, who explains that most people came to the wake the night before. We get busy with life and we don’t talk to the people who made a difference; who made us better than what we were, and shaped us into what we are now.  The years rolled by and the correspondence was too few and now it’s finished. We come forward one more time to put flowers inside her casket.  Then we step back and wait for her time to leave.  When the hearse is ready, the music for the start of the horse races blares out.  Then the hearse pulls onto the street and the music switches to “The Theme of Inoki,” a samba cheering on the pro wrestler. Two days later, I muster the courage and read her last post.  Have a look now, and you’ll know how my aneki was.]]>