Notes from the Undercroft - Biting the Dust

I am going to start this new series of blogs to write a little more about my job at St. John's Church.  This is going to be more about my experiences at the church then anything that could get me fired.  Some of these stories are too good not the share and I feel like I have a duty to my public because I have such a great outlet.  A lot of what happens is normal but since I am so new to the inner workings of the church most of my daily encounters feel something out of a novel.  I am learning an entire new vocabulary and I'm finding church a lot less intimidating.  I actually have grown to be rather comfortable walking around the empty chapel.  There is something peaceful, reverent, and hopeful.  Sometimes I just sit in a pew and think in the quiet.  But there are those days where I just think that I am getting used to my job and something new happens.

Yesterday, Father Simon and Father Michael called me into the office to be debriefed on happenings around the church this week.  It is kind of a busy time with Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, and Lent beginning.  They tell me that there is an "Internment" on Friday.  I used my standard response, shaking my head, smiling, and then waiting for someone to clue me in.  They proceed, "In the memorial garden."  Oh, shit, that kind of Internment.  Immediately my mind starts racing to mentally imagine me pulling this off.  I vaguely remember, after I was hired, someone explaining about the memorial garden where peoples ashes are buried and it being my responsibility.   I sent Michael an email saying that grave-digging wasn't in the job description but figured I wouldn't have to deal with it for a while and when I did that I would have found someone to pass it off too.  Well, I was wrong.

I traipse out to the garden with about 3 shovels of various size, a wheel barrow, a yard stick, and a pocketful of pencils.  I find where the plot is, mark the corners, and feeling rather successful go inside to warm up, get a drink, and pee.  Finding the plot again and I get to work in the 40 degree weather.  Literally, I am standing on the shovel, jumping up and down, trying to break ground completely unsuccessful.  Then I try the different technique of launching a spade at the ground trying to dislodge even a little dirt.   I am pretty strong but no matter what I did, how much muscle, grunting, or wiggling, I could only scratch the surface.  I decided to call in the professionals and headed back inside to collect my thoughts.

My first thought was pots of boiling water should loosen up the frozen ground.   But that might get muddy.  Maybe a heater?  Or waiting for Dad?  I am running these ideas past our parish administrator and she decides to call her husband.  Husband comes with a tool that looks like a huge straightened out crow bar with a point at the end.  He throws it at the ground a few times and presto, grounds broken!  First obstacle: gracefully conquered!  I whip out my post digger and continue my hole.  As my black knee high boots get dirtier and dirtier, I realize that this is probably why the last Sexton wore boiler suits.  Also, I probably should invest in a jacket less expensive and twice as warm.  I just so happened to have on my $500 Kenneth Cole pea coat which is perhaps the most expensive thing I own.  I just break a sweat and the Nursery School kids let out and run to the playground, which I am in eyesight.  I contemplate stopping just to avoid the questions they might ask but decided to finish the job since I was on a roll.

Having no idea how deep the hole should be, I get to about 2.5 feet and decide to stop.  I settled on that number because the dirt that I was picked up was getting wetter and wetter.  Also, I was having trouble opening the post digger and getting any dirt out.  When I stop and look down, water seems to be seeping through the ground.  Two logical choices, either I cracked the sprinkler system or I've hit the water table.  I opt for the water table answer because I am pretty positive the sprinkler has been shut off and drained for the winter.  I settled on the hole being deep enough and then focused on making it a little wider.

I had run into several large rocks but as I am wiggling the shovel around this black, squarish, chunk dislodges and falls to the bottom.  As I pick it up I get this sick feeling that I might have just ran into her husband who passed in 96.  I said a quick prayer, placed the chunk back on the wall of the hole, and called it done.  I have to go back on Friday to finish the job, so to speak, once the funeral service is over.  I know its not really grave-digging but it is still rather creepy.   My question is:  how exactly do you phase this job for a resume?