Text 29599, 139 rader
Skriven 2009-10-08 10:25:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: interment 243
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So Dave dropped me off at Bradley at oh dark hundred, where
security was really hopping - I guess people keep trying to
get out of Hartford no matter what the time is. The airport
has been substantially remodeled in the big glass windows
style that has become popular, but security hasn't made any
such modernizations. It took quite a while to get through,
as I suppose refugees heading out on little regional jets are
more untrustworthy than normal folks. The staff was pretty
good-natured, though, and nobody got too bent out of shape.
I got to the gate (the farthest one) with a few minutes to
spare. Continental isn't a member of the Star Alliance yet,
so my Star Gold status didn't kick in, instead of being in
zone 1 and boarding over the blue carpet, I was in zone a
million and was nearly last, if not last, to get on the plane.
I'd got a good seat, though and so enjoyed the flight in the
arms of Morpheus - I recall nothing about the trip. Got spewed
out into the maelstrom that is Newark Liberty International
(silly name - as though others should be called the likes of
Houston Slavery International). Rested for a while, tried
without success to rustle up free wireless, thought about
having another Angus burger at McDonalds, and then went to the
train station. First you get on the AirTrain; then you get on
another AirTrain; then you hike to the RAILink station. It
costs $5.50 just to get into this hallowed precinct, even
though it is just like any other commuter train stop; but the
price is automatically added to your ticket, and they have you
coming and going. The Jersey Shore train came right on time,
and off I went to beautiful Middletown, NJ, site of Fair View
Cemetery, where from 11 to 12:15 six eminent members of my
extended family were being buried or reburied, some after a
wait overseas of a decade or more. My great-uncle the textile
tycoon and his wife; his oldest son (the one whose wife was
the most beautiful woman in the world); my great-aunt, whom
I'd never met, as she'd lived in China China, and her husband;
and my father. Aunt Dee picked me up and took me to the office,
where I shelled out several hundred bucks for the honor of
having my father's ashes planted.

Almost nobody showed up on time; in fact, my brother and
brother-in-law were relatively early, right at 11, and with both
me and John bugging him, Jonathan remembered the urn. The minister
had been pacing around for half an hour. Having memorials for
five people (the ones on my mother's side) took a while, but
things went smoothly, and around noon we met with the priest
(whom my brother had finally gotten in touch with a few days
earlier), fixed everything, and had a brief ceremony that
would have been 10 min briefer had I conducted it, which I had
threatened to do. We planted my father, and I put a bunch of
roses into the grave (cutting myself with a thorn or two in
the process), and that was that.

One thing that the Chinese have in common with many of the
European cultures is that after a funeral or memorial service
there's a banquet. This was held at the Crystal Palace, as
usual - there have been several burials at the family plot,
and afterward everyone congregates here. I've been here twice
only, having sent regrets other times. It's a couple miles north
of the cemetery and is said to be a respectable restaurant.
Eventually everyone showed up: the place had set 4 tables, the
first one with a "reserved" placard. Nobody ended up sitting
there; we crowded around the others. At our table: Aunt Dee,
her daughter Janet and granddaughter J.J., some really tall
guy who I think was Janet's husband; second cousin Bob, the
host and arranger of the occasion and his wife (Lillian, I think);
uncle Peter; my brother and brother-in-law; me (the secondary
host). A fairly pleasant conversation, into which Jonathan
dropped only a couple bombs.

Bland white soup - fish broth, cornstarch, egg shreds, shrimp.
White is the color of death among the Chinese, and this was
a singularly pale meal.

Potato nest with squid - your average stir-fried squid, the
bodies cut into that interesting diamond pattern that makes
them curl up and get all crunchy, with black bean sauce that
soaked into the nest making it less than wonderful to eat -
a pity, as the fried potato or taro nest is usually the best
part of such dishes.

Fried whole fish - the fish was filleted and sliced first,
the meat stir-fried with scallions; then the bones were
deep-fried and the fillets piled on top. I ate some of the
bones, which earned awe, wonder, and disgust from the younger
people at table. The oldsters nodded wisely but didn't join me.

Fried pork chops with spicy salt - so thoroughly crumbed and
fried that nobody but me could tell what the dish was made of
- guesses included chicken (several at table) and fish (my
brother). This despite the presence of pig bones. Eventually
everyone figured it out.

Lobster Cantonese - the usual, but as before with this place,
I believe that the restaurant steals the tail meat - as far as
I could tell, on our platter there were the carapaces of two
lobsters, with the claws and so on included, but without any
discernible tail meat.

Fried jumbo shrimp with mayonnaise sauce - a Hong Kong
perversion. Pretty good, and the mayo winding sheet tied
right into the theme.

Roast chicken was the usual, except that the skin was less
crisp than it should have been. This was made up for by the
fact that the white meat was moister than one would expect.

Chinese broccoli with black mushrooms was a welcome contrast,
surprisingly. Not surprising that it was a contrast, but rather
that it was welcome.

I think that was that.

Afters: orange slices and sweet red bean congee.

I had a couple Heinekens and John a Tsingtao. The former tasted
better; the latter was more expensive. My brother tasted them
both and decided that the only difference was that one (I forget
which) was more carbonated than the other.

Aunt Julia (the widow of my second cousin and at one time the
most beautiful woman in the world) came up to me and thanked me
again for the Sweet Sloops that I'd sent her 15+ years ago.
The things really are good, as many echo picnic goers know.
She is still stunning but shows her 60-odd years. Her daughter
was there - I had a brief conversation with her - I'm sure that
she is now the most beautiful woman in the world, except that
I couldn't see her face very well, as she's like 6 ft 4. She
had been very lovely and about 5' 10 when I met her when she
was around 11 (15+ years ago). She's managed to get herself a
boyfriend who is close to 7 feet tall.

Pictures and goodbyes. Uncle (second cousin) S.Y., with whom
we have not spoken since he decided that I was dissing him,
and I decided that he was dissing me, managed to get into one
of the pictures.
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