Our family had members in multiple cemeteries all over town, and Saturday afternoons were reserved for cleaning/sweeping/changing out flowers on same. Our maiden aunts grew flowers primarily for the graves, so their yard had something blooming almost all year round. BUY flowers? Surely you jest. Those trips to the cemetery carried about as much anxiety as going to Schwegmann's. The last stop was Bienvenu's (Elmo and ???) to pick up the standing order of 4 dozen boiled crabs for dinner.
On many occasions, dinner was followed directly by our getting our hair put up in nasty rubber curlers or bobby pins while Lawrence Welk happened in easy earshot on the back (sun) porch next door. Now there was cause for terror. And y'all wonder why we're twisted? Compared to all that, funeral home fans traumatized us not at all.