No second chance.

The latest news is that the funeral for the Auntie who passed away on Thursday morning is going to be on Monday.  So that means we’ll head off to Slovenia tomorrow (Sunday) after breakfast some time.    We’ll be staying over night at the cousin’s place in Sava.  It would seem those were the arrangements that had been made for the next time we were there.  I’m perfectly happy to stay in a hotel,  but staying with relations,  even if they are distant,  is OK with me I suppose.   The service will be in Žužemberk.  At least we know where that is.  I suppose the service will be in the big church up on the hill,  but Travelling Companion seems to think there are other churches in town.  I sure didn’t see any.

Some times there are only limited chances to do certain things.  Missing out on someone’s funeral certainly falls into that category.  There’s no “do-over”  when it comes to that event.  Each of us only ever gets one.   The unfortunate thing about this particular Aunt is that we never got to meet her.   No “do-over” there either.
Many of Travelling Companion’s siblings (along with their tag along spouses)  had the chance to meet Teta Cerila. (Aunt Cerila)

 The word was,  if you go there, make sure you’re hungry.

In all the trips we’ve made to Slovenia,  there never was just the right moment to go visit.  I’m not going to get into the reasons.  Just showing up at her door was out of the question,  since even a planned visit was quite stressful for her. (I think it was preparing all that food).  It’s not something I completely understand,  since I was brought up with more of that East Coast Hillbilly mentality,  where you would just “stop by” and see people.  If you yakked long enough (and my father could easily have been accused of being able to talk the ear off an elephant)  and supper was being served,  then you just stayed for supper.   Mind you,  it was usually my Mother who had the common sense and decency to say,  “C’mon Dad,  we better get going!”,  before there was any hint of supper preparation.

 It wasn’t until I moved to Ontario in ‘67 that I was introduced to the curious notion that you called ahead.  Seemed like a very strange idea to me at the time.   Even to this day,  if I’m at my brother’s place in the Annapolis Valley,  (Nova Scotia),  and we want to go visit a cousin over in Margaretville,  the only reason we might call ahead, is to see just how foggy it is.  If it’s really bad,  it’s the driving that’s the worry,  not whether or not you’re welcome to come in! 
Of course,  there was a period of time there,  when not everyone you might stop in to see even had a phone,  so maybe that’s why the idea of calling ahead was so strange to me.
 
I did slip out today to fuel up the car and take a run over to Obi to pick up a couple packages of screws,  so I can do a little remedial work on some door handles at the place where we’ll be staying.  This is a lady who lives on her own,  and there are a couple things that need a little attention from time to time.  The last time we were there,  I went to open a door on the way into our bedroom,  and the handle came off in my hand.    To make it even more interesting,  the only screwdriver she could come up with was a tiny little slotted thing.  I’ll be taking along some tools tomorrow as well.


Not too much else going on in the way of excitement I’m afraid.


I suppose I’ll have something or other to say on Tuesday. 
We’ll see.


Enjoy the rest of your weekend.



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