Saturday was a bittersweet reunion with so many old-timers from The San Francisco School Community. The occasion was a Memorial Service for one of ours who died too young at 81, with his playful childlike spirit intact and a body/face that looked like he was 50. Eli Noyes was not only the father of a lovely student I taught, but illustrated my Teach Like It’s Music book and my colleague James Harding’s From Wibbleton to Wobbleton.  I knew he was a Renaissance man of many talents but had no idea how many until this gathering. Film-maker, Claymation innovator, illustrator, oboe player, accordion player, jazz piano student, weaver, potter— the list went on and there were testimonies from so many how he approached each with such creative gusto and playful exploratory spirit. It was a lovely service and while looking through my poems folder mentioned in the last post, I noticed I had written my hopes for my own Memorial Service someday. Hopefully some far distant day. 

 

Here it is. 

INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY FUNERAL

To start with, the music.

 

Lots of it and don’t hold back.

 

• Ockeghem’s Requiem, for starters. I know it's obscure, but there's a story there.

• Some Bach somewhere—organ or piano. Maybe play my 8th grade record of Prelude and Fugue. If someone can find a turntable.

• Some Georgia-Sea Island style or spirituals group singing with a soulful leader. 

But keep Jesus out of it. You can say Spirit instead.

• Somewhere there has to be some Bulgarian bagpipe. And then people will say, 

“So THAT’S what it’s supposed to sound like!”

• Of course, some jazz. Get someone to sing “Haunted Heart” with a jazz trio. Maybe “Tenderly” and the crowd singing along on “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

• If people are going to beat their breasts, might us well put it to a beat and get some body music going!

• Balinese gamelan optional. Samba or New Orleans style for the recessional. 

 

As for the people, of course, friends, family and neighbors and invite all the kids and teachers I’ve taught. 

Make everyone check their cell phones at the door.

Encourage some copious weeping freely vented. No embarrassment. Let it rip. 

No polite veneers or turn to your neighbor with a friendly handshake and forced smile.

No crap about going to a better place to rest. Show some rage at the brutal hand of death.

The acceptance of its loving embrace can come later.

 

And of course, humor. 

Laugh, cry, they're kissin' cousins. Let ‘em both loose!! 

Fall into each other’s arms. Hug freely and sincerely. 

 

Eat well. Dance. Flirt. 

Talk to me. Tell stories. All of them. 

(Well, maybe not all. Discretion will still have its place when I’m gone.)

 

Let it go on to the wee hours of the morning.

Don’t schedule other appointments, unless it’s the last night for the Misfits/ Some Like It Hot double feature at the Castro Theater. 

 

In which case, by all means go and eat popcorn on my behalf.

 

These some first thoughts. I’ll get back to you with the details.

 

Or not.

 

—Dec. 5, 2010