Yep, us "girls" sitting on a tombstone, posing for a picture. It is our annual or semi-annual trip to Springhill Cemetery. Nunny needs to have appropriate flowers on Gandy's, Mae's, Granddaddy's, and Aunt Mary's graves. It is important to her. Doree and I go along for the laughs. Irreverent? Perhaps.
Gandy's grave is very easy to find. He is at the front of the cemetery. He is buried right beside Uncle Dick and Aunt Jo, also known as Mr. and Mrs. Kornmeyer. It is good and right that they are buried next door to each other, for that is how they lived for over forty years. So, as we speak to Daddy, we always offer a hello to the Kornmeyers. Of course, I know they are not really there, but there is some comfort in feeling as though we are putting flowers somewhere other than where no one is. The red roses in the somewhat over sized container on Daddy's bench, along with some leaves torn off the weathered white (now grey) roses we removed and some pine cones gathered from around a nearby grave site look lovely. No, we do not take pine cones from the arrangement on another grave. That particular monument is located beneath a pine tree dropping its cones. We are pleased with our efforts. We always imagine Daddy telling whoever is with him, that he wished Mom would not spend money on flowers for the grave, and that his girls do not need to be out in the cold weather...and, why exactly is Marilyn not wearing a coat. So, we bid Dad a fond farewell, and go on the always anticipated trek of wrong turns and u-turns and failed efforts to find the other graves. The only explanation for our consistent inability to find Mae and Granddaddy's graves is the well-documented family curse of being painfully directionally challenged.
We miss Channie and Cole on this trip. They have always enjoyed running through the cemetery and reading tombstones. The one and only time we have been successful in finding my paternal grandparents' grave site, Cole and Channie were with us. I remember so well Channie proclaiming, "there is a good man buried over there" as we passed a tombstone with Goodman engraved on it. Those two are always good for a laugh.
Finally, we locate Mae, Granddaddy, Anderson, and Aunt Mary. Mae and Granddaddy died on the same day...both peacefully in their own beds in the nursing home in 1970. He was born in 1884 and she in 1887 They were just short of celebrating their 52 wedding anniversary. Anderson, their son, died in 1929, when my mother was 5 years old and he was 13 years old. He died of leukemia. His death brought with it changes in the lives of his baby sister, as well as his brother and parents. Aunt Mary was Mae's (real name EuDora Bert) sister. She looked the same when she was 30 as when she was 80...she looked 80 most of her life. She always had orange slices in her purse, and often gave us money when she saw us. The money was always coins. She could not see well, so she would ask, "is that a quarter or a nickel?" I felt sorry for her that she could not differentiate between the coins. As a child, it also seemed somewhat ridiculous. As an adult whose eyesight is changing, it just seems perfectly normal. But, I digress.
Mom and Doree had bought a Styrofoam cone to fit down into the urn on the graves. It is very much too large. Doree takes a block of foam and begins to cram it into the urn. She brings Mom's toolbox, which houses some unusual things, the oddest being a faucet. We question as to how an unattached faucet will aide us in our efforts, and none of us can come up with anything. Finally, the roses are placed in the urn. Again, we rip leaves from the spent hydrangeas that have been on the grave since spring to fill in the blank places. Mom and Dor' plop themselves down on Mae and Granddaddy's monument as I set my camera up on someone else's. The ground is bumpy and damp and the tombstone/tripod that I am using is some distance away. It takes the full 10 seconds I am allotted before the picture is taken for me to get situated. Multiply tries are needed before we arrive at this semi-decent shot. Of course, it will go into my daily photo journal, for, sadly, this trip to the cemetery is the most exciting thing I do on this day.
Some might find us a bit inappropriate enjoying our time in the cemetery. One of Mom's fondest memories is when we picnicked there one day. Actually, my little bit of knowledge about the history of cemeteries in the U.S. tells me that we were just enjoying a bit of what was normal in the 19th century....strolling through the graveyard and enjoying a little repast among the spirits. What it really accomplishes, is another day for Daddy's "girls" to spend time together, Mom's mind and heart put at rest by having placed seasonal flowers on the graves, and moments of reminiscing days passed. Mom informed us that she wants to be creamated and placed by Daddy. She felt that way we would not have to pay for a grave to be dug. I am not sure exactly how they bury ashes without digging at least a little bitty grave, but Doree and I assured her that we were not above a little night trip into the cemetery with our shovels to bury her ashes. I thought better of that as I made several wrong turns and took a very circuitous route on my exit. For a moment I felt I might not ever get out of there. That journey would be a bit more disconcerting in the dark.
So for today, I wish you silliness with people you love, fond memories of those with whom you can no longer be silly, and
blessings
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