Because my uncle’s nickname is Ole and he loves rhubarb and he kinda started it
I know I said I wasn’t going to write about the funeral, but I lied.
I sat next to my uncle at the lunch after the funeral.
I told him I had brought rhubarb bars and asked if he wanted one. “I made them with Granma’s recipe,” I said.
Oh yes he wanted one. “I love rhubarb!” he said.
He asked if I felt like the layer between death and me is disappearing, which yes, I do feel like is happening.
Then he said something about how he is the layer so it’s even worse for him.
That’s when I decided that given these facts
- It’s after a funeral
- It’s about rhubarb
- His nickname is Ole
it might be OK to him tell the Ole/rhubarb/funeral joke, which I wrote about a while ago in this post.
No. Not just OK.
Ole is on his deathbed. Pastor Inqvist has been to visit Ole and to give him the last rites. After a cup of coffee with Lena, the pastor left.
Ole is upstairs. He is waiting to die. Which is boring. But what else does he have to do?
Then he smells this delicious aroma from the kitchen.
It’s rhubarb bars – his favorite.
“Lena!” he calls. “Lena!”
But she does not hear him.
He calls again.
He has to take action. He tries to sit up, but he is too weak. So he rolls out of bed, falls to the floor, rests, and then starts crawling: out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the stairs, down the stairs, one by one, to the kitchen.
He gets to the kitchen and slowly and painfully pulls himself up to the counter.
As he is reaching for a warm rhubarb bar, Lena walks in with a basket of clothes. She sees what he’s doing, drops the basket, and runs to him.
Ole looks at her in gratitude.
She slaps his hand and says, “Ach, Ole! For shame! Dose are for after da funeral!”
He loved it and made me tell it to my other uncles.