A good friend of ours recently lost her grandfather at the fine old age of 92.
It happened one bright Sunday morning in late summer. Her grandparents lived in a quiet seaside town two streets away from the church in a modest bungalow. Her grandmother, who is a sprightly 91, rang her grand-daughter on the morning of her husband's death to ask her to come round and help, as she was the nearest person and also spent many happy hours with her grandparents. With sadness she immediately rushed to her Grandma's aid.
Grandpa was lying in bed and looked very peaceful. “Oh Grandma” she said. “What happened?”
“Well we were enjoying our Sunday morning love making as usual” Grandma replied. Before she could continue our friend in some shock interrupted. “Grandma! Surely that's not safe at your ages?”
“Oh yes! We only make love on a Sunday morning and we use the slow peal of the church bells to give us a rhythm – in on the 'dong' out on the 'ding' “
She sighed. “He would still be with us if the ice cream van hadn't come round the corner!”