I always amazed at how much people love their relatives. Finding all kinds of amazing qualities in them. My relatives somehow were very regular people. There was nothing special about them. They had souls, of course, but their souls were.. oh how should one say it softly, boring.

When my paternal grandfather died I was about 7 years old. He had money and was able to arrange a decent funeral for himself. I remember him laying in the good looking coffin covered with crocheted and embroidered velvet material. The orchestra played the special funeral march

tam, tam, tattam, tam, tata-tat-tatam tam,
tam, tam, tattam, tam, tata-tat-tatam tam,

It was early spring, the snow only began to melt and there was something especially warm and wonderful in the air.

I noticed on his nose there was a large and fat looking blackhead. My hands were itching to squeeze it. But understanding solemnity of the moment, I held myself.
I told my mom about it. She only made big eyes at me and put her finger to her lips "Zip it!" )))