Slocan Writers Guild

Curtain opens to a typical middle class living room with the husband and wife facing the audience as though it were the fire place. The couple are in their sixties and very informally dressed. He is reading the Valley Voice(VV) and she is reading the 358 Exchange.

George: “There’s the phone. Rachel! And I want my tea. It’s nearly three.”

Rachel lifts the receiver and announces; “ Bingham residence. Oh it’s you Maud. I was just going to give you a call. Yes I was reading about it in the ‘358’ when the phone rang. Well, I think it is a good idea. Yes, but. Well I was going to talk to George about it but ….!” Yes I will and I’ll ring you back if …..!” Yes I know it’s important but…!” “Listen, I have to give George his tea now, so….Yes, yes. Bye for now.”

Rachel exits left and there are clattering of dishes and water running etc. etc. George continues to read the VV. Minutes later Rachel enters with a tray laden with a tea pot and cups etc., etc. She pours his tea and hands him a cup and a plate with digestives on it. George takes a cookie and holds the cup ready to drink. He does it so deliberately that it seems – it displays, and probably is, a ritual.

Rachel: “Well, dear, there was this para. in the ‘358’ and I thought and even Maud thought that we could….”

George: ‘Come, come now get to the point - no fussing around - what are you two up to?”

Rachel: “Well dear, let me read it out. “The Carpenter Creek Last Wishes Society is searching for local couples who may be interested in joining a small group to put on a play for the community. This play would enact the objectives of the society to emphasise the purpose of this non-profit organisation. Seniors are preferred but not absolutely necessary. This will be a mock –up(dress rehearsal) of the procedures and activities that MUST be undertaken by members in the event of their spouse or partner dying .If you or you know someone who is interested then call Dr. May Copyrite at 250-333-1107 asap.

Rachel: “Wouldn’t you like to go on the stage again George? We are, after all members and we have SOME experience. I think it would be just marvellous for us. If nothing else we’d learn what we – each of us – should do when one of us croaks! You can guess that’s why Maud phoned us when she read it too.”

George: “You mean all those pages and pages we got at the meeting with Mike and May in the Gallery last Spring. They mean something? I thought you had it all down cold dear (smirk smirk!)”

Rachel: “Really George you are a one! This could help oodles of folk who never read handouts. They could learn by seeing the whole kit and caboodle acted out. It is another way of learning what to do, how to do, and when to do all the ins and outs of being one’s own UNDERTAKER! We have nothing to lose and plenty to benefit if we do this. May mentioned it to me last week in passing but it was simply an idea like “”Wouldn’t it be good if we had a trial-run of all the steps or procedures when a partner or mate dies”” So, someone must have given it another thought and phoned Wendy with the note in the ‘358’ . What do you say George?”

George: “Will it interfere with my TEA? I am too old to miss my tea at three, you know.”

Rachel: “I don’t know dear. We will get a hold of Maud and May to chat and see what becomes of the idea.”

May, Maud, and Rachel. Planning the trial activities of a supposed death of a member of the society. In this play George is the deceased corpse. (Based on Diana Lamare ’s short story). They have a list of names from their ad in the ‘358’ and can decide who, what, where, when and why (Actors must build in some humour here – text for video in Act 11 Scene2).

Maud: “At the beginning of course! Write out the ‘to do’ list and divvy it up! I’ll take publicity, brochures and any printing but not content. OH Boy this is going to be fun.”

May: “Fun? No Maud, this idea is not exactly fun but it is “KINDNESS”. This is a form of comfort to the family who are bereft of a loved one. We must emphasize that we encourage people to determine their wishes. We are not a company that will actually ‘DO’ the work entailed. When death is expected due to illness in a home then the family can undertake the funeral themselves but when death is accidental then the coroner is called. We must all remember that distinction

When someone dies there is a loss and that is why we are gathered together. Can we smooth out the loss of a loved one? I think so but I can never be sure. Still, my doubt doesn’t deter me. I honestly feel that this coming together of like-minded people – you – me- the rest of the committee - does help alleviate the emptiness that results in a death. It is quite natural to deny or ignore that all living things, people, plants, pets, pests, - etc., etc., and so on. Death is a fact of life.

Touch me Maud, hold my hand. Touch Rachel, hold her hand. Now look into our eyes. Now the question is? Can we still do this tomorrow? Most likely we can but one never knows. We assume and hope that we can. And this is how we live together with one another – in harmony with tolerance and understanding. Love one another, Hope that we can continue all our tomorrows and be kind.”

That’s why I started this “Last Wishes Society”. Part of my philosophy!”

Maud: “You’re right of course. Death can never be fun. But you must admit May that occasionally it can be funny!”

Maud: “Good question Rachel. First of all. The WHO. That’s us. Secondly, the WHAT. May has tackled that. A PLAY. And the WHY too - KINDNESS. Now we need to think of the next three. WHERE, WHEN and HOW. What’s available to put on a play.

3) Knocks Hall –(That’s not how you spell it. I know! I know but any spelling sounds the same.)

Rachel: “Er yes, I can see what you are driving at ….. but, George and I are the principals in this play. It’s home where the action is taking place and George will be the one who is intended to die. SOOOO, I want to put it on in my house and we can tape it for the public. If this is a try-out, a dress rehearsal, a mock-up or whatever, how more realistic can you be? In our living room. Do you agree?”

End of Act 1 There will be a short interval of ten minutes for re-arranging furniture on stage.

Curtain opens in the living room once more but there is a plywood coffin on three supports in the room and all the furniture is around it. It is evening and Rachel is sitting alone in the armchair with a stack of papers in her hand. George has gone to bed.

George: “Rachel! When you bring up my tea, don’t forget my glass for my teeth.”

Rachel mutters under her breath. “That George! That’s all he thinks about – his tea, his teeth and his toupeé! I run and fetch for him all day long. He’ll be the death of me yet!”

Rachel plops the bunch of paper in the chair as she rises. “I’ll get to you in a minute,” she mutters.

Female voice: “No way she will be back in a minute! And in any case, it’s hard!”

Rachel enters and picks up her bundle of papers. “Thank goodness that’s over. I never imagined how much we have to attend to! But the rehearsal went well.” Rachel takes out her IPod and pretends to open it. I am glad I taped it and now we can go over it and over it again.”

Behind her a screen comes down and the film is the rehearsal. It is in B&W with sloppy sound!! As any home movie should be. (Check with Jeff to produce this and show with all the usual errors in a home movie. (Make it very funny). With George climbing into coffin and six guys lifting it and the sides only come up. George is lying on the base and everyone is laughing. The guys now stand up the four sides and George rolls off the table then, he moves forward and stands in between the walls to ensure that the coffin is long enough and wide enough for him. Then Rachel has a go!! They both fit amply into the sides and the company proceeds to re-erect the coffin. Beer is in sight while the carpenters start re attaching the sides now bolted and glued and replaced. The movie ends with George trying to get back in but is probably too drunk to manage it. (This can be developed as the actors feel comfortable with).

She sits down once more and starts to read a letter she has just received in a bulky envelope.

(The remainder of this scene is a soliloquy. She reads the letter while walking side to side). The screen is still up behind her and as she reads the text comes up on the screen. Timing is necessary to shorten text of letter if too long? (Check with Jeff again)

Mum asked me to reply and say we all appreciated your sentiments. You are right of course it was a terrible shock for all of us. Here’s what happened after Dad died and was taken to the hospital morgue on Saturday.

“My dad’s casket fit in the back of our Toyota Sienna. I suppose if we ever sell our van, this could be a perk: seats 7 or 2 plus coffin. The reason we discovered that dad’s casket fit in our van was because his body needed to be transported from the local hospital/morgue to my mom and dad’s garage. Choking on tears, I asked my grieving-and-yet-still-very-practical mother how this transporting was going to take place. She told me her truck bed was too short and then in the same breath asked, “Do those seats come out of your van?” The next thing we knew, my husband and I were hauling out seats and heading to the morgue. It all felt very surreal, very much like a sequel to “Little Miss Sunshine.” And yet the surreal became very real as we hoisted my father’s coffin into our van and then heaved it into the garage and placed it gently on sawhorses next to the Karmann Ghia convertible, melted ice dripping onto the floor.(Although there was a plastic liner under the blanket, a small amount of melted ice dripped onto the floor)

“Is this legal?” I asked my mother, not really because I cared about legalities but more out of curiosity. In most Canadians’ lifetimes, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen. Most corpses are embalmed, made up pretty, and laid upon satin. My dad, on the other hand, was on ice in a plywood coffin that my mom and her friends had assembled the day before; mom was a member of the local Last Wishes Society, an organization that provides free support and little-known options for people who have lost a loved one.

My parents, both being woodworkers, had a multitude of tools and know-how, so assembling a coffin was pretty basic stuff. Assembling the coffin of your lifelong love of 54 years, however, should have thrown off even the most skilled of woodworkers – but not my mom. She dove into this project as if she were making a bed or a dresser. And the end result was a box of simple beauty decorated with wooden bears, cars and flowers along with a name-hanging that read “BARRY” and mom’s handwritten message underneath that said, “We love you.” Dad’s face was relaxed, a slight smile on his lips, as if he were taking a nap and dreaming about bananas dipped in chocolate. He had no make-up on and looked so natural, I kept expecting him to wake up with a smile and say “Hey, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, it’s legal,” mom told me. “At least I think it’s legal.” Pause. “Yes, it’s definitely legal.” Pause again. “But we should probably close the garage door and just enter through the side.” Good enough for me. All I knew was as strange as it was, I was deeply grateful to know that our family could spend time with dad that night with no strangers hovering, no hand sanitizers and no time limit. Having said that, though, the first time I saw dad lying there looking so much like himself, my knees buckled, my face flooded with tears, and my head flopped down upon my arms along the edge of the plywood box. I was expecting to see a beautified version of him, a familiar stranger, him but not really him. Instead, I saw…dad. He looked exactly like dad. I don’t know why that was so shocking at first, but my only other experiences with open caskets were with bodies that had been dolled up and altered so much that they could have been someone else entirely. With my head still on my arms and my knees still weak, I glanced down the coffin instead of at his face.

“Is that a tomato on his belly?” I asked through my tears, thinking my eyes which had been pouring for two days had begun seeing things.

“Oh yes!” mom replied. “He was so proud of those tomatoes. He had just picked that one an hour before he died.”

Laughter during grief is an odd and yet beautiful thing. You feel as if you shouldn’t be laughing, and yet when you do it feels so good, so liberating. The pain lifts for just a moment and your body and mind lighten ever so slightly before the sadness sinks in deep once again. Now, seven weeks later, I can still feel the sensation of my pained laughter when I saw that tomato.

Once we’d all adjusted to the idea of dad being in the garage for the night, we kept being drawn out there to be with him. My mom and my two brothers, plus our spouses and kids pretty much spent most of the night standing next to that box. It was so incredibly sad and yet we felt so honoured to be there talking to him, telling stories, crying, laughing, hugging, crying, crying, crying.

The wooden, unpainted coffin reminded my oldest brother, Joey, of a time when mom and dad had taken the three of us on a camping trip in our old Chevrolet truck with a plywood camper shell. Dad had just built the camper shell and had not had time to varnish it before we left. Because we lived in Southern California at the time, he was not expecting rain. But, of course, just as we arrived at the campground, the drops started to fall. Dad quickly grabbed a can of varnish and started handing out brushes. There we stood, a family of five, varnishing our camper shell in the middle of the campground. When people stopped to stare, dad said “What are you looking at? Grab a brush!” He would have been pleased with his unvarnished casket, and pleased to know that if it had rained we would have known what to do.

In the midst of the hum of stories, I suddenly desired a moment of silence. Everyone agreed, so we turned off the garage light, held hands, and closed our eyes while encircling dad for about four minutes. It was a powerful thing, those minutes without spoken words. At first I felt very anxious, almost, as if my mind and heart could not stop spinning. Then, slowly, as one minute became two, then three, my mind started to slow down, my heart rate became gentler and it felt as if from the top of my head down to the soles of my feet I was being connected to the garage floor and to the earth below. By minute four, I felt a stillness throughout my body that I’ve never felt before or since. Mom was crying softly and then said quietly, “I love you, I believe you, I bless you, I release you.” And with that we all spilled more salt water on the floor and tried not to jump right in and join dad amidst the cedar boughs, flowers and tomatoes.

The mood shifted upward once again when my older brother Joey started stroking dad’s soft grey hair with one hand while rubbing his own bald head with the other and choked out, “I know he wasn’t an organ donor, but do you think I could have his hair?”

Dad’s death was a shock to us all. He was a happy, healthy 70 year old who had set up a life with mom that we all thought would keep the two of them around for a very long time. They ate well, took naps, didn’t drink or smoke, worked hard but not too hard, and lived in a wonderful community just up from the shore of the Slocan Lake in the town of New Denver, BC. One day, on the shore of that lake, while holding mom’s hand and enjoying the view, his heart suddenly just stopped beating. He fell over and was gone before he hit the ground. The slight smile on his face told us that he was still enjoying the view right up until the moment he died. This knowledge made us feel relieved for him, but the suddenness of his passing knocked all of us sideways. He’d always been so full of love and gratitude for his family and supported us all through the many changes and challenges in our lives. To not have him with us seemed impossible, incomprehensible even. But that night in the garage made his unexpected exit more tangible, more bearable somehow. We hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye, he had no final last words; there was no time for untold truths or heart-to-heart talks. So we huddled in the garage and let it all out.

Late into the night, after the silence and the stories, everyone started to make their way back into the house. But my two brothers and I held back. We turned the lights off once more and stood with dad, our hands on his hands, sharing secrets we’d never told before.

“I got a letter from dad way back when,” I confessed. “You know when you got a letter from dad, it was either going to be something you really wanted to hear or something your really didn’t want to hear. Well, this letter was not what I wanted to hear. I read it once and put it away for a very long time.” I proceeded to explain the contents of the letter (dad advising me to leave the boyfriend who’d been trampling over my heart for years). “When I finally did leave the guy, I pulled out that letter and realized how bang on dad had been.”

“I got a letter, too.” Joey said. “Only I didn’t take his advice and, man, what a mess I ended up in.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky you never got a letter,” Joey and I said at the same time.

I don’t know how long we stood there remembering moments with dad - some good, some not so good - but all part of who we are today and who we will always be. We told him how much we loved him and we thanked him for all he had done for us. We each kissed his forehead and said a quiet good night to him. It felt as if he were right there with us, kissing us back and saying thanks for letting him stay in the garage and thanks for putting him next to the Ghia. “You’re welcome, dad.” I said.

The next day was a doozie. We had to get dad back in the van in order to get him to the crematorium in Nelson, an hour and a half away. But before we could put him in the van, we had to take the ice out of the coffin. Originally, we thought we’d lift his body out of the box, scoop out the ice, and then put his body back in the box. But the idea of lifting out a corpse and the reality of lifting out a corpse are two different things, especially when the corpse is your beloved father and the people doing the lifting are his beloved children. After a failed attempt at lifting dad’s dead weight out of the coffin and almost throwing up all over each other, Steve realized we could reach under dad and pull out the blocks of ice instead of having to hoist him up.

“Hurry up! Barry’s going to be late for his own cremation!” Mom shouted the loudest.

Eventually, the ice came out, dad’s arms and head were shifted back into a comfortable looking position on the pillow, with clothes and blanket arranged. The lid was screwed on the top of the box, and the whole thing was heaved into the back of our Toyota yet again. That ride to town will always be with me as the most bizarre 90 minutes of my life. I kept reaching back to pat the coffin, as if to remind myself that it was not a dream and that, indeed, we were delivering a dead body.

As our four vehicles slowly wove through the beautiful forested cemetery, the mortician saw us and approached our van.

“Just back it in right up there,” he said and pointed at a small, white building with a mini garage door.

The family huddled around dad for the last time, 13 of us in total, ranging in age from 7 to 70. We started tucking gifts in around dad: notes, drawings, cards, a photo of mom that Joey had in his truck, homemade huckleberry muffins and chocolate. His grand-daughters put wildflowers in his hair and, dead or alive, he wouldn’t have minded.

Finally, we had to let him go. We held hands and made an oval through the side doors and around the back of the van. Joey suggested singing a song mom and dad had sung to each other every day after doing their morning yoga. As we sang “May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you, and the pure light within you guide your way on,” the sun did land gently upon my dad’s lovely face as he lay there amidst all his treats and tributes. The very patient mortician even wiped a tear from his eye as he stood back, watching us with a look of sadness and quiet respect.

The van felt strangely empty without dad in it; only the water from the melted ice remained as a damp memory in the carpet. A couple of weeks later, when we were back on the coast, the dampness became rather odorous. I didn’t mention to my kids that the “bad smell” in the van was actually the drippings from grandpa’s casket.

At some point, the smell disappeared and I kind of miss it now. I still say hi to dad every now and then and figure I’ve got a pretty sure guardian angel whenever I’m on the road, a guardian angel with plenty of snacks for the journey.

During this reading Rachel has been wiping her eyes with a Kleenex from a box on the chair (or table) nearby. It is obvious she is deeply moved by this letter. She sighs and slowly goes to bed.

It is morning and Rachel comes in wearing her nightie and Kimono. She is humming to herself and feels better than when she went to bed the night before. She turns on the radio and hums in harmony. She starts clearing away the mess of the gang that was in last night. She puts on water for George’s tea and starts preparing his breakfast. (this is up to the actor to determine how long or short she wants to spend on this action.) Then she shouts to the bedroom “George, George breakfast is ready are you shaved yet?”

She goes about setting the table and etc, etc. “George your tea is poured and it will get cold if you don’t get down now. (Aside) George, that man he is a slug-a-bed! George get up at once”.

Rachel tramps up stairs and “come on now – George” (command voice) - then a crumpled voice “OH NO! OH George You can’t be……..”[Copying’s catching? Inferred.]

[i] This excerpt is from the short story “The Garage Wake” (2009) © written by Diana Lamare on the sudden death of her father Barry. It is a faithful description of this event and is included here with consent of the author. Her father was a dear and close friend of ours and his sudden death touched all those who respected and loved him. TJH.

Nonsensical ethical lexicons, diaries, junk heaps,
Cats that ate bats with whimsical latte’s force.

Popping tubes, open agendas for scraping sky scrapers and dusting ol’ Vacuum tubes.

Haunting the walkabouts, the roundabouts, the row boat horizon viewers on
Chem trails… detectives like Sherlockian Cats in yer’ hat yodeling up the sky pies.

At best it twist’ ter like words ner’ sister told on the old cat by you, telling you to make stew, and so

Cash M’cann on the American plan said the French Fried the plan and Solzhenitsyn or Sarkozy or some other salve or some other Japan took the stand.

Yakker’ diddle did a little ditty on de weeper’s woppin’ and hoppin’ Mary Poppin got
Gidgetin’s light just in enough in time for a ticket on the Night Train.

And so Cat man’ do and sleight time in Track told the 49’ junction and the Tuxedo top hat and

Rain brought the rain man down out of his shack, for the
Manufactured Line or so he says from a large Knapsack…saying,

Pardon me boys it’s the Whopper Fellas last night mix, the Last Waltz trick,
The Captain of the Bungalow does Bungle in the Jungle…
the Big Tent shines African love, and the kids come and get in their kicks’

In New York, in London, in Cairo, in Montreal, in bedlam, under desert stars, on entertainment tonight, haunting,

An that’s all here and there,
I swear.
And would the sad faced colonel be bloody enough for the madness
I swear.

For me the verdict is still out on whether social media networks like Twitter and Facebook have any real value in modern society. Providing details on the most mundane aspects of life and posting them for the entire world to see to me seems at best… trivial. Clicking on “Trending” links with subject matters such as how many people are discussing the latest ‘dreadful’ outfit being worn by one of Hollywood’s top starlets is not only boring but is an insult to my intelligence. Then there are the more potentially sinister aspects, like the automatic face recognition software utilized by the likes of Facebook – which uploads and cross-references the results with organizations that are not necessarily for the common good. Sigh… Privacy is a thing of the past.

It almost makes one long for a chisel and stone, or at least a quill and parchment paper…

But there are positive aspects to these types of communication networks! We have seen over recent months numerous examples of how these tools can be used to affect positive change. One man in Egypt says, “Enough is enough” and lights himself on fire; video and text submissions are instantly uploaded… and it sets the whole Middle East ABLAZE! These correspondences were then able to be instantly viewed around the globe thus becoming a catalyst for other good folk to get organized and FINALLY stand up for themselves and the planet they love.

Consider what is happening with the latest ‘Occupy Wall Street’ movement. There are no clear ‘leaders’ just a whole lot of people behaving as one collective mind. If they have not already realized it – I believe they will soon understand just how powerful they are through solidarity. How did this latest permutation occur? As I understand it one man said, “Enough is enough” and put a message out on his social media accounts – requesting that other concerned souls should join him to march on Wall Street. This carried a spark that started fires in the likes of Chicago, Los Angeles, Rome and Venice - and it is only a matter of time when the whole world is ablaze with people who peacefully stand up and collectively say – WE WANT A DIFFERENT WORLD! We are all ONE!

What will be interesting to see is what happens if George W. Bush has the courage to show up for the summit meeting in Surrey, BC on the 20^th of October. Will our PM step up to the plate and act upon the warrant for arrest that has been issued by Amnesty International to make the former President of the United States stand trial for war crimes? The only way that it will happen is if WE the PEOPLE demand that he and all other takers stand before a court of their peers and that justice be served (maybe someone could perform a citizen’s arrest). These handful of abusers need to see the whites of the eyes of the billions of earth inhabitants they have harmed and beg for mercy and forgiveness for the atrocities they have committed. We the people also need to apologize for our indifference and complacency and take a more active role in shaping the world in which we live. If everyone took a more proactive approach - then imbalances of power would not exist and we would live in a truly democratic society. Do you think this is a mere pipedream? Just think about how the users of Facebook, Wiki, Avaaz and Youtube have affected change in the world in just the last 12 months. There is MAGIC in the world and that magic is US!!!

“ONE person speaking up makes MORE NOISE than a thousand who are SILENT!” Thom Harnett

I grew up religious! From a ripe young age I was taught about being good to the poor and to the sick, the elderly and the fatherless. I was reminded constantly about the story of the ‘Good Samaritan’ – some dude who found another dude lying in the street and helped him back onto his feet. Then there was the one about there being no greater love than that of laying down one’s life for his/her friends… There have been numerous examples of how to give one’s power away to others – in order to find favor with the Big Eye in the Sky.

Now, don’t get me wrong - it’s not that I am against being good to others. Quite the contrary! It’s just that I believe that we should be clearer about the motivations behind our charitable acts. Even the ‘good book’ talks about doing unto others as you would have them do unto you; or love others as you love yourself. To me it is very clear even in these passages that the message implied is that we must love OURSELVES first!

But how many of us were actually taught to love ourselves? We’ve been taught to love God and country. We’ve been taught to love our family or our team be it a sports organization, company, political party or any other form of religion. But what happens when we grow up in a household of abuse? What happens if our favorite political/religious leader turns out to be a complete fraud?

Let’s face it – virtually ALL of our deities (small ‘d’ or capital ‘D’) are abusive parents. Any structure that portrays itself one way, but behaves incongruently with that portrayal is an abusive structure. Are we exercising kindness when we continue to support situations that are clearly against the common good? Like viewing the landscape below when cruising at 30,000 feet - if we could only rise above our various structures – and begin to see the whole dynamic and beautiful system which is our world – then maybe we could collectively see a bigger picture. From this increased perspective, if we were to address all of the challenges we face with the following response: what is in HIGHEST kindness or best interest – for ALL inhabitants of the earth – then maybe we would make different choices!?

Recently, I read a bumper sticker that brought a glint to my eye: “RELIGION is what keeps POOR people from killing RICH people!” In my opinion until we the people begin to grasp this truth (and in this writer’s opinion ANY structure where a small group of individuals control many is a religion) – then nothing is going to change. But how do we the people realistically take back our power and exercise highest kindness to ourselves and to our planet??? Face it even if we want to do something and participate in protest rallies etc. – most of us just don’t want to rock the boat, because our actions could have a direct effect on the lives of our loved ones. Protesting via violence or by refusing to pay taxes/mortgages etc. – could just end up putting us in jail or at least kicking us onto the street.

So how does one protect the lives of their loved ones in the short-term, but still take positive REAL action to show HIGHEST KINDNESS for the collective Earth Family of which we are all a part??? It’s been a quandary for me for much of my existence. In my opinion it comes down to technology! Yup, the very thing that you are sitting at in order to view this writing – because of its connection to a vast global network of other computers owned by other concerned earth-citizens can be an incredible force for change. Please do yourself and the collective a favor and check out: www.avaaz.org for in this writer’s opinion it is a wonderful way to exercise… on a planetary level – HIGHEST KINDNESS for all!