Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Putting the fun in the Collins Funeral Home

By Mary Ann Cook

When you live in a small Indiana town, as my mother and aunt do, there are very few places where you can rent equipment. That's why when my aunt wanted a canopy in the back yard to accommodate a family reunion, she went to the local funeral home.

The reunion was to celebrate my mother's 90th birthday. The awning would allow the festivities to be conducted outside, a necessity since the house my mother and aunt live in is small. The shelter would offer protection from sun or, if need be, rain.

"Yes," said Mr. Collins of the Collins Funeral Home, "we have an awning just the right size--15 feet by 15 feet. It's one we don't use anymore, so I'm not going to charge you anything. My boys will put it up for you."

Since Mr. Collins had known my aunt and mother throughout his childhood, he knew that, at ages 86 and 90, they weren't quite agile enough to erect the eight poles that would hold up the tent/awning by themselves.

By the time 14 of us alighted from California, and a like number had driven in from other parts of Indiana and Ohio, the awning was well ensconced in the back yard. Since the picture window in the kitchen overlooks the back yard, it also overlooked the funeral canopy. The only rub was that on the awning flap waving cheerily back at us were the words: Collins Funeral Home.

Though appreciative of Mr. Collins' generosity, we didn't much want to be faced with a reminder of his trade every time we stepped outside or glanced through the kitchen window. A streamer blaring "Happy Birthday, Mabel," was proposed to cover the offending words, but when that couldn't be easily accomplished, we settled for balloons.

Already, scores of balloons bedecked the front room doorway, ceiling corners and the picture window in the kitchen. The picture window alone required more than 50 balloons to frame it. How did the two residents summon up the lung capacity to blow up that many balloons? I guess I'll have to redefine my definition of old.

The grandchildren found helium at a Jack in the Box to fill the balloons that decorated the backyard fence and rose upward in graceful curves. And plenty of young lungs blew up enough balloons to cover the awning flap. This colorful camouflage worked well for the first few days of the celebration. But gradually the heat vanquished a significant number of balloons. To our good fortune, the heat was discriminate. And through the remaining balloons, the inscription now read: Collins Fun Home. That configuration proved acceptable. Besides, the rest of us were out of breath.

While we were busy getting ourselves out of breath, the octogenarian and the nonagenarian were busy feeding 15 to 30 people three meals a day for five days. Indeed, so afraid were they that their guests would eat elsewhere that they printed up a menu that announced juices, breakfast breads, bacon, sausage and eggs cooked to order. At the bottom of the sheet were the ominous words: No substitutions, please.

All the out-of-towners were staying at a nearby motel. My son told his grandmother he had posted the menu at this motel and that it had aroused considerable interest. People she might not be related to could begin showing up one of these mornings, he claimed.

At a time when most hostesses don't bake much any more, we could choose between four kinds of breakfast breads, sticky buns and homemade crescent rolls. Since these two devotees of General Mills are justly famed throughout the county for pie-making, there was a plethora of pies as well. They can slip a pie into the oven in the length of time it takes me to select a TV channel. Blueberry and strawberry were produced to commemorate the Fourth of July. But gooseberry, pecan, chocolate and coconut custard were alternatives if those didn't warm the cockles of your Yankee Doodle heart.

When the reunion was over, and the last of the visitors had been delivered to the airport, my aunt called the Collins Funeral Home to tell them the boys could pick up the awning any time. But they came while we were gone, so we didn't see them. Someone who did see them, however, was the neighbor from across the street. He saw a Collins Funeral Home vehicle in the driveway and witnessed a wrapped bundle being tossed unceremoniously into the van's interior. He saw it leave, and he raced across the street to find out which one of those nice ladies had died. Whichever one it was, he told their next-door neighbor, she certainly wasn't being treated with much dignity.

The neighbor assured them that both ladies were very much alive and added: "Those people sure know how to party," he said, lending support to the awning's Collins Fun Home message.

The across-the-street neighbor was vastly relieved. He had recently helped my mother and my aunt adjust their TV. When asked his favorite pie, he protested: "No, no. Don't make anything." But as he crossed the street, he flung back over his shoulder the single word, "Apple." And soon, an apple pie appeared hot from the oven.

The pie payments continue. As I left, the pie makers were trying to decide what kind of pies to gift the Collins Funeral Home boys.

Mary Ann Cook is a Los Gatos resident.