As it turns out, not only do I have two weddings to attend ( one down, one to go ), but unfortunately, I had two funerals to attend.

After 96 years, 15 grandchildren, and 25 great-grandchildren, my Dad's last living aunt: Novie Pitts Gaskins, finally made the trip to the promised land. And according to Aunt Novie, it was about danged time! She was tired of waiting around. ( I'm not making that up. )

One of the really cool things I like about being from the rural South is the traditions that everyone who grew up likewise knows and understands. Funeral processions are one.

When you meet a funeral procession, as a sign of respect, you pull off to the side of the road until the entire procession has passed.

When you see people who don't, they are either: kids, city folk, or Yankees.

Tuesday however, I found something else that doesn't stop: a mile and a half-long freight train, mostly because very little stops a mile and a half-long freight train.  Anyway, it ended up splitting the procession in half, and naturally, me and my Dad were in the second half.

Luckily the procession was only traveling about 40mph, so once the train passed, our little part of the procession only had to exceed the speed limit by 20mph or so to catch up.  Which we did.

Did I mention that the train was traveling at around 60mph, and that we were going in the same direction? No, I don't think I did.

This is important because after traveling 15 miles or so to the cemetery, the procession had to cross back over the railroad.  And, you guessed it, we got caught by the same train during that attempt.

Only in Arkansas.

The second funeral, which we actually didn't get to attend because it was 1 hour and 50 miles away from the first, was that of Mansel Forbus, Jr.  A friend of my Dad's since he was a kid.

Junior, who was also known by the nickname "Possum," was an avid outdoorsman who hunted and fished his entire life.  To that end, he was buried in wearing a camouflage outfit and a fishing vest.  In my mind, that was completely and entirely Possum and a fitting tribute.

So, let me tell you a story about me and Possum.

When I was growing up, we had an annual dove hunt every Labor Day weekend.  One year we were hunting in my Dad's cow pasture.  Since doves don't generally fly at mid-day, we brought supplies and equipment to have a fish fry at lunch.  After lunch, Possum decided to take a nap.  I thought it was be funny to pour cold water on his head to wake him up.  It turns out that Possum didn't think it was that funny.

He jumped up and started chasing me across the pasture.  I think that was the year after I got out of high school where I had played football my Senior year.  I was still in pretty good shape and easily outran him.

Have you ever heard the phrase, "Youth and enthusiasm are no match for old age and treachery?"  Well, I hadn't at the time, and it would cost me. :)

I finally wandered back to camp and was keeping my distance from Possum. What I wasn't doing was watching him take off his boots. Dumass.

Once he got his boots off, he took off running at me and I high-tailed it back into the pasture.  I was still wearing my game vest, which I had unzipped, and it was billowing in the wind behind me like a sail.

Possum reached out and grabbed my game vest and yanked really hard, throwing me to the ground.  He then proceeded to pull me, by the game vest, back to camp.

As you can imagine, I never woke Possum up from one of his naps again.

Only in Arkansas.

Peace be with you both.