Best. Funeral. Ever.

For the last couple of days we've been having our annual-ish winter storm here in Texas. This one was actually kind of a doozy: a repeating cycle of sleet, snow, and rain over two days that made driving a very bad idea (as demonstrated by the morbidly fascinating news videos of native Texans and West Coast transplants trying and failing to do just that). It was a great time to stay home, and I did just that.

One of the things I'm very grateful for (for which I'm very grateful...whatever) is the technology that makes it possible for me to do my desk job from my sofa. Another is having management who recognize that letting folks work from home occasionally is a perk that pays dividends, and not simply a lost opportunity to micromanage and browbeat their workers in person. 

I don't take advantage of WFH all that often; when you're an office manager, a surprising amount of your work requires an office to, you know, manage. But I do a lot of other stuff that can be backed up, packed up, and taken home when necessary. And when various forms of frozen precipitation are falling from the sky in a place where that happens approximately as often as Jesus' birthday, I call that necessary.

So I've been tap-tapping away, much to the consternation of Tacocat, who can't understand why my lap is off-limits when I've got the glowing black machine in front of me. I took plenty of breaks to play fetch with him, don't worry. For the most part I've had the TV running while I worked, either keeping tabs on the weather or just listening to old reruns droning in the background.

But on January 9, the National Day of Mourning, I got to the watch the state funeral of former President Jimmy Carter, who passed on December 29 at the age of 100 (an age that, frankly, I never, ever want to reach). As I watched the flag-draped coffin being carried into the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., it struck me that I was home on the day of the last Presidential funeral, that of George H.W. Bush in 2018. I don't remember if it was weather that day, or a stomach bug, or what. But apparently this is my thing.

Anyway, the funeral was, as far as a funeral can be, delightful. Solemn, celebratory, dignified, folksy, full of music and eloquent speeches...10/10, no notes. And you could tell that it had all been planned to the finest detail by the departed himself, a man who knew a thing or two about putting your heart and soul into making an impression.

I was impressed that former President Gerald Ford and former Vice President Walter Mondale both wrote moving eulogies for Jimmy Carter, knowing full well that they might end up being delivered after each of them were gone. Their respective sons read their words - words full of love, respect, and admiration for the man from Plains, Georgia. 

I was beyond impressed that speaker after speaker extolled President Carter's faith, his integrity, his lifelong commitment to civil rights and human rights. I loved his grandson's description of his papaw answering the front door of his house in "70s short shorts and Crocs" and having "a rack (in the kitchen) of Ziploc bags hung to dry." Like many others, I was humbled by the image of a man who was once the most powerful person in the world declining the protection of the Secret Service while he built houses for the poor.

And I - a small, unimportant, and above all very petty person - I enjoyed the hell out of the fact that this heartfelt celebration of Jimmy Carter's life, before over a thousand people from all walks of life, played out in front of the incoming occupant of the White House. He wasn't there as President of the United States. He wasn't there as a cherished colleague, friend, or confidant of the deceased. He was there because of...protocol, and politeness. He must have hated every minute.

The prayers. The hymns. The outpouring of love and sincere grief for the man who was (unlike him) the focus of everyone's attention. It must have galled Donald J. Trump.

What was he thinking? Was he trying to tell himself it was all lame, or phony? Was he flipping through his mental Rolodex, trying to think of people he knew who might give a eulogy with a fraction of the sincerity and affection? Was he mentally redecorating the National Cathedral with fake gold leaf and velvet-upholstered pews? Was he paying any attention at all to what actually constitutes a legacy?

Ugh. Attempting to get inside Trump's head gives me a rash.

There were five former Presidents at Jimmy Carter's funeral - Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, Donald Trump, and (almost) Joe Biden. All of them will, in due time, receive state funerals. Each will reflect the character and legacy of the man it celebrates.

I doubt any of them will provide as much popcorn-worthy schadenfreude as this one.

I told you I was petty.

Rest in Peace, President Carter.