In a thick fog and a light drizzle, weather she would have appreciated, my old friend Virginia was buried this morning. She was 94 when she died last week.

At the funeral were almost entirely relatives: cousins, nieces, nephews, and the children of nieces and nephews. The priest, 81 years old himself, was her second cousin.

After the box was lowered by hand into the grave, one of the nephews (in his sixties) said, "This is the first time in sixty years that anyone has been buried in this graveyard the old fashioned way."

A murmur of agreement went around that she would have approved.