buckets of elbow grease

So last Saturday we held the funeral mass for my mom, and subsequently went to the cemetary to lower her urn into a hole dug for it, we sang the first verse of Amazing Grace, and then we went to the Chartwell residence where my dad, aunt, uncle and his wife are living.

At the residence, food was provided and I sat at a table with my Aunt Therese, my uncle Paul and his wife Lucy. Paul is recovering from a critical health issue of some kind and was basically unresponsive. Lucy had all sorts of questions for me that I answered and gradually I became more comfortable to talk about myself.

I cannot remember the last time that I had so directed an interest, in person, from anyone asking about me; apart from posts on this blog I do not tend to talk about myself hardly ever.

I do talk with my friend Beverly at church every Sunday morning as we both arrive early and act as greeters when parishioners arrive. With Beverly I do talk about myself but only in bits and pieces, not in a protracted way like at that event with Lucy.

Throughout my life I have always been a pretty good listener, I am good at being present in the moment and focusing on the person talking to me, and asking well thought out supplementary questions. I have heard it said that people really like to talk about themselves, I suppose I am in a minority who do not like to do so.