Archive for July, 2014

The Green Burial of Lorrie Otto

 

Lorrie Otto - godmother of natural landscaping movement

Lorrie Otto

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while you’ll know that I believe in Green Burial for both sustainability and philosophical reasons.

One of the philosophical reasons is that it allows family and friends to touch death more intimately by taking the funeral and burial responsibility away from the “professionals” (me) and placing those responsibilities in the hands of the bereaved.

Most of us have an imaginative or experiential idea of what a “traditional” burial looks like; but few of us have a mental image of what a green burial looks like.  The following eight photos are of Lorrie Otto’s green burial.  Lorrie was an environmentalist in life and death.  These photos are reposted with the permission of the Green Burial Council.

Photo credit: Brian Flowers and the Meadow Natural Burial Ground at Greenacres in Ferndale, Washington
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Father asks internet to edit this photo of his late baby daughter

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Reddit, it is a very active community-run social network.  Users submit content and other users interact with said content.

On Sunday, a father asked this of the Reddit community:    1

 

 

Here is the original photo:

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Here is Reddit’s beautiful response:

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Mr Steffel concluded (the father): “I just wanted a picture and what I received was a lot of wonderful drawings and pictures. I couldn’t be happier.”

 

Ten Reasons to Date a Funeral Director

Today’s guest post is by Lelial Thibodeau:
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10. A funeral director knows how to stretch a dollar so far beyond capacity that extreme couponers would be seething with envy.

9. Funeral directors can get any stain out of any fabric.

8. Funeral directors understand the importance of paperwork. In triplicate. And filling it out is just par for the course. Tax season doesn’t compare to corporate budgetary reviews.

7. A funeral director is meticulously clean. From an unwelcome speck of dust on the end table to a mortifying bit of grit underneath near-perfectly manicured nails (this applies to the women and the men).

6. Have you ever not introduced a current flame to your family because you’re afraid your kin’s special brand of crazy will scare off any potential mate?

A funeral director is like a “crazy person whisperer.” They have to be just to get anything done. Bring on the monster in-laws.

5. A funeral director can’t be grossed out. Ever. There is literally nothing you could show one that would churn the contents of his stomach. This applies to noxious odours as well, so snag yourself a funeral director and feel at ease passing gas whenever the urge hits. They’ve smelled worse.

A lot worse.

4. Funeral directors are masters of illusion. Need to impress your boss at a dinner party? Stage your home for sale? Conceal something from your parents until you’re ready to deal, or the issue has been resolved? A funeral director thrives under one credo: Smoke and mirrors.

3. A funeral director understands how important it is to live for today, but plan meticulously for the future.

2. A funeral director is an expert at burying secrets. Yours are not as bad as you think they are, and the funeral director’s training ensures that your skeletons not only stay in their closet, but that the closet is sealed in a concrete vault under 8 feet of dirt and the paperwork has been properly “sanitized.”

1. A funeral director knows how to give you a delicious, full-body, invigorating massage that gets your circulation working overtime and leaves you feeling, well, like you’ve risen from the dead. How did we acquire this particular skill?

Don’t ask.

*****

Visit Lelial’s blog HERE

If You’re Looking for a Book with Outrageous Funeral Stories …

Over-Our-Dead-Bodies-1There are a couple reasons funeral directors don’t tell their stories.

One, it takes a lot of tact to narrate funeral experiences that are so very personal, so sensitive and so interconnected.

Two, the stories are often too complex to tell.  We sit at the hub of multiple narratives – the deceased’s story, the family’s stories and our own personal stories – and bringing all these perspectives together in a neat digestible bit is no easy piece of writing.

And three – and perhaps the biggest reason – writer types don’t last long in this trade.  Verbal processors do well as funeral directors.  The introverted, self-reflective writer types can often be overburdened with the gravity of death-care.

But every once in a while writer-types succeed as funeral directors and they find a way to write tactful, digestible stories that put life in death.  Kenneth McKenzie and Todd Harra have not only done this once but twice in their co-written books, “Mortuary Confidential” and the newly released Over Our Dead Bodies

I just finished reading their newest edition, which is divided up by Ken writing some chapters and Todd writing some others.  Ken’s chapters read biographically.  And his first story is especially outrageous.  It tells of the police having to take over a funeral that went Jerry Springer.  As a sixth-generation funeral director, my family has a bunch of stories we like to tell, but NONE like this one.

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Ken McKenzie

Ken tells of his father’s suicide and how that event inspired him into the funeral trade.  He tells of his niche in the early 90s with deceased AIDS victims.  He tells of the growth of his business and his foray into charity, which included the fundraising 2007 and 2008 Men of Mortuaries Calendars (Ken was the mind and money behind those projects).  In fact, a portion of the proceeds from this book and the previous one go to Ken’s charity KAMM Cares, which helps women who are battling breast cancer.

Todd, a fourth-generation funeral director from Delaware, tells ten stories (from ten different people) that are dipped in beauty and morbid humor.  Todd’s paints a great story and he weaves together each funeral /death related story into a stand along piece.

Todd Harra

Todd Harra

Overall, not only do I recommend this book as a well-written peek into the funeral industry, I also recommend it philosophically. Ken and Todd are doing what funeral directors need to do to gain back the public trust that’s been lost by a few selfish shysters.  This disclosure and transparency found in Over Our Dead Bodies is what the funeral industry needs.  It is the opposite of the uptight, closed-doors privacy that too many funeral directors buy into as essential to our ideal of professionalism.

So, if you’re looking for a fun book to read on vacation; or a weird Christmas gift to give to your macabre Uncle Frank; or maybe you’re interested in what funeral directors might encounter; or you simply want to support Ken’s KAMM Cares, let me recommend Over Our Dead Bodies.

The very, very bad death of Robert-Francois Damiens

The Frenchmen Damiens attempted to assassinate King Louis XV, inflicting, however, only a slight dagger wound.  He was, of course, condemned to death … albeit a very, very bad death.  

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William Wallace (played by Mel Gibson) getting drawn and quartered in Braveheart.

From Foucault’s Discipline and Punish:

***This account of Damien’s death — to say the least — is very disturbing.***

On 1 March 1757 Damiens the regicide was condemned “to make the amende honorable before the main door of the Church of Paris”, where he was to be “taken and conveyed in a cart, wearing nothing but a shirt, holding a torch of burning wax weighing two pounds”; then, “in the said cart, to the Place de Grève, where, on a scaffold that will be erected there, the flesh will be torn from his breasts, arms, thighs and claves with red-hot pincers, his right hand, holding the knife with which he committed the said parricide, burnt with sulphur, and, on those places where the flesh will be torn away, poured molten lead, boiling oil, burning resin, wax and sulphur melted together and then his body drawn and quartered by four horses and his limbs and body consumed by fire, reduced to ashes and his ashes thrown to the winds” (Pièces originales…, 372-4).

“Finally, he was quartered,” recounts the Gazette d’Amsterdam of 1 April 1757. “This last operation was very long, because the horses used were not accustomed to drawing; consequently, instead of four, six were needed; and when that did not suffice, they were forced, in order to cut off the wretch’s thighs, to sever the sinews and hack at the joints…

“It is said that, though he was always a great swearer, no blashemy escaped his lips; but the excessive pain made him utter horrible cries, and he often repeated: ‘My God, have pity on me! Jesus, help me!’ The spectators were all edified by the solicitude of the parish priest of St Paul’s who despite his great age did not spare himself in offering consolation to the patient.”

Bouton, an officer of the watch, left us his account: “The sulphur was lit, but the flame was so poor that only the top skin of the hand was burnt, and that only slightly. Then the executioner, his sleeves rolled up, took the steel pincers, which had been especially made for the occasion, and which were about a foot and a half long, and pulled first at the calf of the right leg, then at the thigh, and from there at the two fleshy parts of the right arm; then at the breasts. Though a strong, sturdy fellow, this executioner found it so difficult to tear away the pieces of flesh that he set about the same spot two or three times, twisting the pincers as he did so, and what he took away formed at each part a wound about the size of a six-pound crown piece.

“After these tearings with the pincers, Damiens, who cried out profusely, though without swearing, raised his head and looked at himself; the same executioner dipped an iron spoon in the pot containing the boiling potion, which he poured liberally over each wound. Then the ropes that were to be harnessed to the horses were attached with cords to the patient’s body; the horses were then harnessed and placed alongside the arms and legs, one at each limb.

“Monsieur Le Breton, the clerk of the court, went up to the patient several times and asked him if he had anything to say. He said he had not; at each torment, he cried out, as the damned in hell are supposed to cry out, ‘Pardon, my God! Pardon, my Lord.’ Despite all this pain, he raised his head from time to time and looked at himself boldly. The cords had been tied so tightly by the men who pulled the ends that they caused him indescribable pain. Monsieur le [sic] Breton went up to him again and asked him if he had anything to say; he said no. Several confessors went up to him and spoke to him at length; he willingly kissed the crucifix that was held out to him; he opened his lips and repeated: ‘Pardon, Lord.’

“The horses tugged hard, each pulling straight on a limb, each horse held by an executioner. After a quarter of an hour, the same ceremony was repeated and finally, after several attempts, the direction of the horses had to be changed, thus: those at the arms were made to pull towards the head, those at the thighs towards the arms, which broke the arms at the joints. This was repeated several times without success. He raised his head and looked at himself. Two more horses had to be added to those harnessed to the thighs, which made six horses in all. Without success.

“Finally, the executioner, Samson, said to Monsieur Le Breton that there was no way or hope of succeeding, and told him to ask their Lordships if they wished him to have the prisoner cut into pieces. Monsieur Le Breton, who had come down from the town, ordered that renewed efforts be made, and this was done; but the horses gave up and one of those harnessed to the thighs fell to the ground. The confessors returned and spoke to him again. He said to them (I heard him): ‘Kiss me, gentlemen.’ The parish priest of St Paul’s did not dare to, so Monsieur de Marsilly slipped under the rope holding the left arm and kissed him on the forehead. The executioners gathered round and Damiens told them not to swear, to carry out their task and that he did not think ill of them; he begged them to pray to God for him, and asked the parish priest of St Paul’s to pray for him at the first mass.

“After two or three attempts, the executioner Samson and he who had used the pincers each drew out a knife from his pocket and cut the body at the thighs instead of severing the legs at the joints; the four horses gave a tug and carried off the two thighs after them, namely, that of the right side first, the other following; then the same was done to the arms, the shoulders, the arm-pits and the four limbs; the flesh had to be cut almost to the bone, the horses pulling hard carried off the right arm first and the other afterwards.

“When the four limbs had been pulled away, the confessors came to speak to him; but his executioner told them that he was dead, though the truth was that I saw the man move, his lower jaw moving from side to side as if he were talking. One of the executioners even said shortly afterwards that when they had lifted the trunk to throw it on the stake, he was still alive. The four limbs were untied from the ropes and thrown on the stake set up in the enclosure in line with the scaffold, then the trunk and the rest were covered with logs and faggots, and fire was put to the straw mixed with this wood.

“…In accordance with the decree, the whole was reduced to ashes. The last piece to be found in the embers was still burning at half-past ten in the evening. The pieces of flesh and the trunk had taken about four hours to burn. The officers of whom I was one, as also was my son, and a detachment of archers remained in the square until nearly eleven o’clock.

“There were those who made something of the fact that a dog had lain the day before on the grass where the fire had been, had been chased away several times, and had always returned. But it is not difficult to understand that an animal found this place warmer than elsewhere” (quoted in Zevaes, 201-14).

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