At the cemetery 2014

Yesterday I went to the local cemetery-Maple Grove-in New Haven with a friend to set out hostas at the grave site of her parents. Her mom died over 4 years ago and she has not been to the cemetery during that time. Not everybody has that ideal relationship with their parents that is advertised on Facebook. They leave us without saying "I'm sorry for the harm I caused you"-bitter and stubborn to the end. Even as adult children those wrongs can still shape our lives. It is difficult to forgive and let go. Maybe this is a step forward for her.
Anyway the plants looked nice, and while we worked, we spent time together talking of her parents and her children and how they deserved their own separate feelings and memories of their grandparents. Some things are better kept hidden.
I took a great photo of her in her work clothes and gloves and flushed face from the exertion of digging.
We drove slowly on down the lane to my mom and dads grave mentioning names of those we knew as we passed other stones. Some are early settlers of New Haven area and many names I know as distant relatives that I recall my parents speaking of. One section has names of Celeryville families; another has a black marble bench at one grave site. Most are decorated with bright silk flowers since Memorial Day is this weekend. At my parents grave, we pull the weeds around the thriving daylilies I recently set out inside the chintzy white plastic fence that prevents the caretakers from mowing them down or spraying with weed killer. I think of how Mother would like the attention to her grave and the memories I recall of her hours in the flowers. And the lilies even came from her farm on Townline 12-the bronze ones.
Memorial Day used to be known as Decoration Day when I was a child. Somewhere along the way -1967- it was officially changed  and then in 1971 it became a Monday holiday. It even used to signal the end of the school year and the beginning of summer vacation. But no longer.
My Decoration Day memory was a trip with my Aunt Lucy and my Grandmother Maudie along the mountain path to the steep hillside graveyard where numerous mystery relatives were buried. New plastic roses replaced those faded from a years exposure. They spoke in hushed tones about the familes buried there and even shed tears for my baby sister and Maudies lost child Oliver.
As we drove around Maple Grove, we  ended in the back corner where a small area segregates the lost babies and children from the main cemetery. How sad. Small graves with small stones or only name markers stuck away alone. Some were well cared for and others not. I went along each and pulled the weeds as Suzie read the names. They are remembered another year.
The day does establish a specific day to remember the dead. At least it reminds the living to care for the remains of their ancestors and to even speak their names once again.

Random Thoughts for 3/19/14

I saw a car in Bowling Green, Ohio with license plate ZINNIA. Did not see the driver, but I imagined she was several years younger than me, full of busy confidence and combed her long hair with her fingers. She was on her way to the greenhouse because she needed more plants for the flower beds. Probably for the perennials that were on sale. Coneflowers, daylilies, bee balm, daisies...


Lack of membership finally closed the doors of St Sebastian's after a hundred years of spirit. Latin mass left in the 1970s. The townships children went away to college and never came back. The parents aged and went to the nursing home and then final settlement in the cemetery near the church. Most of the surrounding land was bought by corporation farmers who plow to the road. The old homes are slowly fading and losing their battle against weeds and shrubs and the wild. That hope and hard work of the settlers is finished. In the distance I can see the gravestones standing alone against the stark white of the church. Lonely and left, they will soon lean and wear away to the earth.

My drawings-
My MS life-several years ago in the winter, I had trouble with my thought processes and speech and communication. I also had headaches and became very depressed. I was convinced that I had a tumor, but my neurologist assured me that all this was part of my illness. Anyway, about that time, I started drawing. At first it was doodles, then abstract doodles that became more complex and intense. I am still compelled to draw everyday. Some drawings get painted or pen and inked. Bright colors. Imagined angles and shapes. I don't know where it comes from (I really know WHO it comes from) but it is a comfort to my brain. This winter, on our flight home from Florida, I learned another reason why. As the flight readied for departure, I was already drawing to pass time. The very helpful attendant, Karen, asked if the drawing was for her and I said "if you like". I soon finished the picture in black inks, and as we neared landing, I passed it to the attendant with name tag Karen, but she was the wrong one. Seems there was 2 Karen flight attendants. The other one appeared and I gave it to her. She thanked me with tears in her eyes and shared that she had lost a dear friend that very day and my drawing was a sweet gift. I still think of her as I draw daily and wonder if she is finding comfort for her loss. And say a prayer for her. God works in wondrous ways.
Karen worked on the Ft Lauderdale to Atlanta Southwest flight on February 26. Please be kind to her and other Karens.