Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

gaunt windows, thru which filtered the same melancholy autumnal light as of old – It was an experience that I am sure comes to few.
Afterwards, as I went away somewhat dazed, I gloated over the fact that I had actually turned the clock back. And yet there was something disconcerting about it. It was the sort of memory one might have on a death-bed perhaps.
The incident of course would have been beautiful, if Miss McKee was a person whom I had ever liked. I loathed her even in the first grade, and later when I was older and knew her for what she was, my dislike only deepened. She is the typical old maid, whose sole interest in life seems to be the receiving and scattering of the most vicious gossip. Indeed she could hardly go thru the usual greetings, before she must tell me all the scandal of Lovell Kings second marriage, with indescribable gestures and tones of voice. She has the knack of making even a moderately sordid event incredibly vile.
Yes, had she been a sweet old lady, what a beautiful experience it would have been. Yet it was authentic for all that.
The funeral a beautiful one – Dignified surroundings, gorgeous flowers (all kinds of chrysanthemums) a fine funeral sermon and an utter absence of any audible breakdown by anyone. And then the ride thru the country Greene, with the landscape lit up by the warm December sun, the burial in the Greene Cemetery – a fitting end for Martin, if premature (to our human minds).
In the evening after everyone had gone, Jimmy played records for me until 2:00 A.M.
Dec. 3 – We had intended taking the noon train from Youngstown