Thanksgiving passed with fond memories, somber moments, and a highly inappropriate joke about Auntie Julie’s face appearing in the mashed potatoes. The next day, my mom, my aunt, Aunt Mim’s widower (who from here on out we’ll call Slobodan Milosevich, because that’s the nickname we gave him at the time. It was topical then, I swear) and Jozia set out to deal with the funeral arrangements.

My mom and my aunt had become, sadly, pros at this. My auntie had been preceded in death by my two great uncles over the previous couple of years, and my own beloved grandma in July of the same year. In fact, buschia’s wake had produced a somewhat amusing anecdote involving Jozia herself.

We were sitting in the front row of the funeral parlor, when Jozia made her royal entrance. This woman thought an awful lot of herself. In fact, my father often said that she carried a card in her wallet that said, “Very Important Catholic. In case of emergency, call a bishop.” You’d have to be an old-school Catholic to understand that joke. Anyway…

Loud, bossy Jozia arrives at buschia’s wake. She strode arrogantly up to us in the front row, tossed her envelope in my eldest sister’s lap, and ordered, “Put this with the other cards!” My sister stood, saluted Jozia behind her back, and did as she was bidden.

Meanwhile, my other siblings and I watched Jozia as she lowered her ample carriage onto the kneeler, and started to pray. She wore white. A filmy, gauzy white skirt, to be exact. I was seated next to my brother-in-law, to whom I whispered, “Couldn’t she have worn a slip?”

My sister, in turn, leaned into her husband and said, “What’s that all over her underwear? Alligators?”

My brother-in-law, struggling valiantly to maintain a serious expression, whispered, “I think it says Monday Monday Monday.”

Thus, whenever Jozia was mentioned from that day forward, someone would imitate her imperious booming voice and say, “Monday Monday Monday!”

But back to story. Due to the timing of Auntie Julie’s passing and the time it took to embalm her body, the wake and funeral would take place Monday and Tuesday of the following week, respectively. My mom, aunt, Slobodan and Jozia chose the casket, flowers, and food for the funeral luncheon.

The same funeral home that handled my two uncles would be taking care of my auntie, as well. In fact, auntie’s new lawyer knew the funeral home personally! How very convenient!

So, when the funeral director, lawyer, Slobodan and Jozia all tried to stick my mom with the bill because, “That’s what Julia wanted” – my mom, in her grief and still stunned from Auntie’s somewhat unexpected death, almost signed the paper.

Almost.

That’s when all hell broke loose.