We held a memorial for Jennette yesterday, and by all accounts, it was a complete success. Well, not quite. Scott was in charge of the music, and he couldn't get it going. His tech skills appear to be rusty now that he's a retired CBC cameraman. Leonard Cohen was with us, sitting on the iPad, but the voices of his lovely singers couldn't seem to reach the speaker my husband held in his hand. Like the good emcee I was, I tapped danced for a few minutes. "Well, I guess we know why the CBC is in trouble," I quipped, giving my husband the stinkeye. Fortunately, we didn't have to endure a Don Mclean nightmare, another day the music died. Scott finally got it going, and we were saved. Today, I'm suffering from a funeral hangover. The feeling is familiar. I remember it from the myriad funerals I attended as a child who was blessed with lots of genetically compromised elderly relations whose arteries were altered by booze and cigarettes. The Blood...
More than a million served!