Today, we had final services for my now late Aunt, Celia C. Malmberg, age 97, and this was the eulogy I delivered, thanks to the richness of my childhood, my life, inhabited, surrounded, nurtured and loved, by my Aunt, and all her siblings.
The quiet demeanor Cele often posed almost, completely, shielded what an incredible, remarkable woman she was.
Iconoclastic would be, perhaps, a bit too loud, but she was, truly, an independent spirit, following her own path, throughout her life.
This perhaps surfaced, when, back in the day, when it was not encouraged, marrying the love-of-her-life, though he had been married before, and had children.
Cele took in and loved those children as her own, as she would, with each and every, niece, nephew, and grandchild that came along.
And she had a trick.
She made each and everyone one of us feel uniquely special, that she was "our Aunt", just ours, without ever letting all the others lose the same feeling.
She was a prolific knitter, sewer, baker (ahhh, who wouldn't go for a batch of her home-made devil dogs right now, or one of her pistachio cakes?), shopper, and, yes, iconoclast, adopting early, long before they became popular, mainstream topics, such as healthy eating, and vitamins.
And, most of all, she was an incredible "giver" ... She was always there, always ready to help, not looking for anything in return, again, for everyone, with the specialness, always making you feel uniquely special.
She is reunited now, with her siblings, those that left before her, The Mokaba's ...
We would be remiss, if we didn't acknowledge the gigantically generous words my good friend Barry Crimmins posted today, a posting that brought me to my knees, in a flood of both, sorrowful and joyful, tears;
I had expected to put up an Editor's post this evening, to explain our absence yesterday (due to a severe flu bug thing going around), however, we received much sadder news.
She is the end of an era, the last of her siblings to pass.
Born to Syrian immigrants, she lived a rich, full life, living independently, until age 90 (and, fighting off a purse-snatcher, at, around, 87 or 88).
She was a prolific baker, sewer, knitter, and giver, always there, always giving of herself.
It is sad, but we know now, she is in a better place.
With this, we can't say, for sure, when we will resume posting, certainly not over the next few days.
So, busy yourself by running down the left sidebar, and read the highlighted post, or explore some of the other great writers out there via our Links Section.
The authorities do not know exactly how many people have been killed warbling “My Way” in karaoke bars over the years in the Philippines, or how many fatal fights it has fueled. But the news media have recorded at least half a dozen victims in the past decade and includes them in a subcategory of crime dubbed the “My Way Killings.”
The killings have produced urban legends about the song and left Filipinos groping for answers. Are the killings the natural byproduct of the country’s culture of violence, drinking and machismo? Or is there something inherently sinister in the song?
Whatever the reason, many karaoke bars have removed the song from their playbooks. And the country’s many Sinatra lovers, like Mr. Gregorio here in this city in the southernmost Philippines, are practicing self-censorship out of perceived self-preservation.
[snip]
Indeed, most of the “My Way” killings have reportedly occurred after the singer sang out of tune, causing other patrons to laugh or jeer.
“The trouble with ‘My Way,’ ” said Mr. Gregorio, “is that everyone knows it and everyone has an opinion.”
Oh My!
Think about how many more layers of legend that could have added to Sinatra, if such was the practice, particularly, after 1965, or so, when his vocal talents began sinking, much like the 'Lady in Cement'.
We took it kind of easy today, being, after all, that it was Super Sunday.
Also, we had to give ourselves a "head-slap", for missing, earlier this past week, noting our 5th Anniversary of writing The Garlic, as well as hitting our 3,400th post.
They can leave the "Aint's" behind, and shuffle up into Payton Manning's face, bellowing, joyously "Who Dat!".
As we posted earlier, to Facebook and Twitter, "A lot of Super Bowl workers getting big OT Pay tonight - Having to pack away all those "Peyton Manning Best Ever" crates ..."
Dave Weigal ReTweeted that "Haitians about to get a shipment of Colts Super Bowl Champion T-Shirts."
Manning, heh, heh, threw the game-killing interception, trailing, at the time, by only 7-points, and on a march downfield, as Tracy Porter returned the pic 75-yards for a touchdown, sealing the deal.
And, Saints QB Drew Brees was named MVP of the game.
The most clutch play ever, perhaps, in a Super Bowl, however, goes to Saints Coach Sean Payton, for making the call to go with an On-Side kick, for the Second Half kick-off, recovered by the Saints, and they just stole, from that point on, all the momentum away from the Colts.
A little partying, maybe, huh?
Barry Crimmins announced that "FEMA commences emergency airlift of crucial beer, wine and liquor supplies to French Quarter."
So with that, we will reprise something we used, just a few weeks ago, to celebrate the Saints ...
