My Uncle Bubbles and his wife Candy have supplied us with a solid repertoire of E-Hell stories, but this one is my all-time favourite in terms of its sheer inappropriateness.
Uncle Bubbles fancies himself an amateur photographer, and he is able to afford a beautiful, professional grade camera through money he saved by never giving a nice gift to anyone, ever. But I digress. My dear grandfather, the family patriarch, passed away suddenly, and my rather large extended family was called home for the funeral proceedings. The aunts, uncles, and grandchildren all gathered at my grandma’s trailer to eat, drink and reminisce. And through our tears and laughter, Uncle Bubbles was there, behind his camera, taking pictures of us. Most of them were without our knowledge or consent.
I mentioned this to my mom, Uncle Bubble’s sister, who graciously suggested “This is his way of dealing with it.” So I left it alone.
The funeral was gut-wrenchingly sad. We had a bagpiper pipe his casket into the church, and to this day I can’t hear bagpipes without tears welling in my eyes. And that sad afternoon will be remembered forever, because my Uncle Bubbles stood at the altar during the entire service, taking pictures of the priest, the casket, and the congregation. I hope he noticed my evil death stare in at least three of them.
At the following Thanksgiving, Uncle Bubbles makes a long-winded toast that left my grandmother in tears, then announced that we are to help ourselves to the photo C.D.s he made of Grandpa’s funeral proceedings. At the end of the dinner, the stack remained untouched. I don’t know why he thought we would want to look at pictures of one of the saddest days of our lives, but he thinks differently than most. 0724-10