SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer, But Rita Got Returned To Wal-Mart OMAHA, Nebraska (Reuters) - A Nebraska woman who received an ornate box for Christmas and returned it to Wal-Mart without looking inside discovered later it contained the ashes of her recently deceased sister, a newspaper reported on Friday.  Judy Money received the box as a gift from her brother who lives in Iowa.  But after unwrapping the package on Christmas Eve she saw the box had a broken knob and decided to return it to Wal-Mart without ever looking at the contents inside, the Omaha World-Herald reported.  When Money later confessed to her brother that she had returned his gift, he told her the box contained the ashes of their sister, who had died Dec. 11, the Herald said.  Marvin Tippery, Money's brother, told the Herald he was shocked when he found out she had returned the box.  "No, no, you didn't! Your sister was in there," the Herald quoted him as telling Money.  Money told the Herald she made a mad dash back to Wal-Mart, but the box had already been thrown out with the trash.  Money and her brother finally found the box on Thursday amid trash piles at an area landfill.  "My prayers have been answered," she told the Herald.  "Just the thought of having her in the dump was awful."


The State-Sanctioned Flame by derrymacash

derrymacash's Comments:  The following goes to the air of "Patrick's Arrival" which I've only ever heard sung by Christy Moore on his album "The Iron Behind The Velvet".  It's a lovely tune.  This is another "oblique" response to one of Áine's challenge!s.  Sometimes the original idea's "laterals" strike a chord with me and the result is a far cry from the original story . . .

You've heard of the brave Joan of Arc
She burnt with barely a grumble
As the flames grew from a spark
She was heard some few prayers to mumble
And those who were there at her pyre
Say she went calmly and bravely
While others sentenced to fire
Were screaming and hollering "Save me"
"Help" and such other things -

Those who worshipped Oul' Nick
In days that we cannot remember
Were burnt when tied to a stick
And thereby reduced to mere embers
They say that quite often the fate
Was one they didn't deserve
And a few went to death quite irate
"Call this justice? You've got a quare nerve!"
(But the flames shut them up in the end)

But now in the era of light
In the era of civilisation
The state sets no-one alight
In pursuit of rehabilitation
But now when we shake off the coil
The state urges incineration
There's so little room in the soil
They ask us to opt for cremation
(And a scattering, if we desire)

But ashes are fickle debris
Easy victim to vapours and humours
Happier folks we would be
If we knew that the earth would entomb us
Not to be flambeéd or fried
Not to be flame-grilled or seared
But in a fine box to reside
Complete with a long silver beard
(Or some other sign of great age)

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