So, Evelyn dies and wishes to be cremated--an abomination to her remaining family--and per her instructions, then be deposited in a bowling ball and dropped to the bottom of Lake Wobegon.
My favorite quote so far:
Evelyn was a whistler... The rest of the family was disposed to gloom, dark Lutherans who pitch down the rocky slope of melancholy and lie there for days, sighing, moaning, waiting for someone, usually Evelyn, to rope them in and haul them back up and comfort them with dessert. A people waiting for the other shoe to drop. Phlegmatists. Stoics. Good eaters who went for recipes that start out Brown a pound of ground beef and six strips of bacon and in a separate pan melt a pound of butter.
Being of a melancholy temperament from way back, I can only smile. Perfect analogy. And I'm still waiting for the dessert to be sent my way.
So the next time you want to say the unconscionable, "Smile, whydon'tcha!" to some pensive, unsmiling type, hand that melancholy person a cupcake instead. Actually, just send it to me.
Oh, and read Pontoon!