When a work crew started setting up a sound system, speakers and keyboards at the multi-purpose hall at the corner of our block earlier this week, I thought it was for some sort of Christmas party. After all, the kindergarten two blocks away uses it as a venue for their concerts.
When I was at work, L reported hearing strains of Abba, Cyndi Lauper and the Bee Gees wafting up to our windows -- all in dialect though. You haven't lived till you've heard Saturday Night Fever in dialect, he would like you to know.
So I thought maybe the senior citizens group was having some Christmas/New Year thingy going on. But the next night, the music continued, L reported with some surprise when I was at work. This time, he noticed something odd. Everyone attending was dressed in black and white. If it wasn't a themed singalong, it was a funeral. But that didn't explain the Bee Gees. In dialect or otherwise.
So today, under the guise of taking the dog for a long walk, I went and kaypohed. It was a funeral. Had to be. There was a coffin. And wreaths. And a multi-media display on a screen that flashed old black-and-white pictures of who was presumably the deceased as a child, and at different stages of his life -- the sort of thing that you usually see at weddings, not funerals.
Well, it's one heck of a send-off. Especially with the Bee Gees. In dialect.
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