My dad's funeral was interesting. He was buried in a tiny, rural (time stood still since the early 1900s) little church graveyard in Oregon. Dad had been cremated (heavy box of ashes, that) and the caretaker of the graveyard showed us the hole and gave us a shovel - told us to bury him. So after a hearty rendition of "Home on the Range" (Dad's choice), we buried him. (Oh, a leaf fell and landed in my hair while we were singing and that became a "sign" to the attendees... no one told me what the sign was, but it was, most assuredly, a sign.)
