"We are not peasants"

There are a few things that my late grand mother installed in me. I sometimes forget until I run into a specific situation and then I can literary hear her voice in my head. This last week I found myself stating it out loud while talking to a coworker. I had just received news that I would go to a funeral this week. I was worrying, as I am prone to do going to something I've not done before, since I don't want to stick out. It's my first catholic funeral, and it's in the south (well, Louisiana so it's even a little more different). I'm simply not really clear on the "local customs and culture" and I don't want to offend anyone.

Back home when I grew up it was easy, you dress up in black clothes (or dark grey) without looking like a waiter and show up for church service. [Unless explicitly stated in the funeral notice, sometimes it's more "a celebration of life, please wear blue" or similar.] Afterwards there was "some food and drinks while people talk about the dead person". Where I grew up there was no "viewing of the body", unless for the immediate family. And not too much more to worry about.

Here? In the south USA? Totally different. I think I've mentioned before that one of the things that have made the biggest impact here is the speed of having the funeral. Within a week. Everyone drops everything and goes to the viewing and/or funeral. If you're a coworker or a friend or family, or a fellow friend from the congregation. It's very kind and I think it's a support for the grieving. It's just the way it is. You show up. Needless to say, I've been to a few funerals during my decade in the south. Most of them though has been in the episcopal church (similar to my upbringing) so I haven't needed to fret too much about it*.

There are a few differences though. Not all the funerals have been heavy on the black clothes. People have shown up, that's the important part, in nice clothes but not necessarily in black. Also, the viewings before the funeral where you go and pay your respect to the living family and the deceased. It took a little getting used to, seeing a dead body with make up but nowadays I would say it's one of the traditions I would like to take back home. We did use to have viewings before 1960ies. I know because my grandmother told me as a child.

So, the saying that came into my head and out my mouth the other week? Well you see, it's the everlasting conundrum I find myself with here in the hot south. I was brought up that to be properly dressed when wearing a skirt or a dress you wear pantyhose. Very seldom would I go to work with bare legs. In summer when it's hot and you bike to work - maybe - but it wasn't that often I felt ok with doing it. However, in Sweden there are only so many days when you really want to be barelegged so it's a very small issue (imagine end of May, June, July and perhaps beginning of August - that's a good year).

Here? In the south USA? A huge issue. It's hot pretty much all year round. Bare legs abundance. And still I insist on my pantyhose to work. Although when it is 26C< / 85F< it might seem strange (at least to a lot of the natives I know). And I don't want to stick out. Talking to my coworker about "what to wear" (even though I probably pay too much attention to this, but it is my stress response) I hear myself saying "I don't want to be too overdressed nor do I want to be embarrassing. It's going to be hot, weather scheduled to be 85F and sunny (meaning even hotter) so it's a fine line between over dressed and "needing to cover shoulders and knees inside the church". However, I know I'll be wearing hose". My friend looked at me with a raised eyebrow since this was my one thing I knew about the clothing. I quickly responded: "Going to funeral church service barelegged? Not a chance in the world. 'We are not peasants my dear'" as my grand mother told me a few times when I was younger and did something that didn't fit with her notion of what it meant to be a lady. (I so hope you see me how I try to be a lady every day mormor.) My coworker burst out laughing, knowing exactly what I meant in that instance.

The irony of course would be that my grand mother came from a long line of proud farmers on her paternal grand father's side (as a lot of Swedes in the 1850ies). They owned their land though, and were not 'peasants'. Class definition at its best (lowest). Tomorrow I'll think of you mormor. I hope I make you proud. As every day.



*I know, it sounds awfully shallow to focus on "my clothes" since more often than not I'm not the grieving party and really, who cares what I do?! However, it's my way of dealing with stress. I focus on silly small things since that is something I can do something about. I can't make the dead undead. I can't know if someone will fall apart at the funeral and start wailing and help them. I can't make a promise "everything will be ok". All I can do is show up, be there for my friend/person who has lost someone and hope that I'm not a part of making the funeral worse than it has to be. And dressing inappropriately is one of those things some people get hung up on. Respect and all.