October Thought Day 25: Whadda Ya Want on Your Tombstone?

I always loved that tagline from the Tombstone pizza ads, it gave me the giggles. It also made me think of pizza shaped tombstones and zombie delivery ghouls. Ever since I was a tiny tot, I have been fascinated with cemeteries/graveyards. They don’t scare me, they fascinate me. I even like the name graveyard, a yard full of graves. It paints quite the word picture.

I am an architecture/art nut and cemeteries have some of the best of both of those worlds, the creativity and artistry is off the charts. However, I am not an equal opportunity cemetery lover, it has to be certain cemeteries with certain qualifications, and any old graveyard won’t do. They have to have character. Cemeteries where there are only flat plaques in the ground don’t float my boat. The place just looks like a really big lawn and there is nothing interesting about that. I enjoy places like St. Louis Cemetery # 1 in New Orleans, the Roman catacombs, and the tombs in and around Westminster Abbey. The older and more run down a cemetery is the better I like it, and I love, love, love the old west goofy inscriptions on the tombstones. It gives a whole new meaning to having the last laugh.

When I first got mono I thought about the tombstone that reads “I told you I was sick,” that is one of my all-time favorites. So of course I Googled it and it came up with all sorts of other funny stuff which was not at all what I was searching for, but for today’s thought, it works.

It always astounds me what people will write on a tombstone. Pop culture references are all well and good until you have to spend an eternity with them. A man named Micah Green let his last words be forever immortalized as “I see dumb people” Really Micah, you want to antagonize the living who take care of your plot? Another of my favorites is showman impresario Merv Griffin’s tombstone which says “I will not be right back after these messages.” Still making us laugh Mr. Griffin, right along with Rodney Dangerfield whose stone oddly enough doesn’t say “I get no respect,” but does say “There goes the neighborhood,” which I like much better. Then there is an anonymous stone that says, “I made some good deals, I made some bad ones. I really went in the hole with this one.” It’s nice the occupant can find the humor in their situation.

One of the most disturbing tombstones I came across while googling was from a lady named Kim. The stone reads, “Jesus called, Kim answered” and it has a picture of someone who I assume is Kim with a cordless phone etched onto it. That thing gives me the creeps.

What you put on your tombstone is like trying to decide your senior quote, but for the rest of your unlife. People do all sorts of creative and crazy things. While googling I have seen full sized car, motorcycle and scooter headstones. Some people choose to build a family mausoleum. Others have chosen to turn their stone into a bench, which is my personal favorite. Some people get philosophical, some add bible verses, and some put only names and dates. It is interesting to see how people choose to be remembered; to look at the changing styles and trends. I’m not morbid; it’s the history major in me.

There are whole studies devoted to funerary iconography. I think it is fascinating how people view their dead and their placement. With the day of the dead celebration, loved ones decorate the tombs and picnic there. In New Orleans they dance their way to the cemetery. I love the idea of the Hollywood Forever Cemetery where you can go and watch movies projected across the side of a mausoleum. Plus they have a whole cultural events calendar….for a cemetery, for the living. Very cool, it is on my bucket list to go there one day.

When people take the time to lovingly craft a cemetery it shows. I appreciate the neat and orderly rows of Arlington, but I also enjoy the tombstones out in the middle of nowhere that are grouped together, halfway listing because they have been there so long. Someone cared enough to stake out a spot, hem it in and bury their dead. These places have character, which is also why I find old church yards marvelous.

There is actually a list of scenic cemeteries one should visit, Green-Wood Cemetery in New York City, Granary Burying Ground in Boston, Highgate Cemetery in London, Pere-Lachaise in Paris, the Old Jewish Cemetery in Prague, La Recoleta in Buenos Aires, Cememterio General in Santiago and the Mt. of Olives in Jerusalem. Google them and you will see what I’m talking about. I love it when planners set up eternal resting places as places of contemplation and beauty rather than some afterthought for the afterlife.

This is what I like about October, for every macabre topic; there is also beauty to be found. So this is my challenge to you, find the beauty in something that normally wouldn’t be considered beautiful. Maybe it is a warty pumpkin, or a bug. Perhaps it is the dull flat color of an overcast day or someone you normally wouldn’t give a second look to. Look past the initial impression, dig deep and find the gem within, then let me know what you see.

October Thought Day 19: The Poetry of October

I’m cheating a bit today. As I was scrolling Pinterest I came across an October poem that grabbed my attention. I read it, reread it and then sat back and thought. I went outside and watched a farmer bale his hay. I came back in and looked at websites for ghost towns; and all the while that poem played in the back of my mind. I couldn’t shake it. Good poetry/writing will do that, it sticks with you. So here it is for you to enjoy.
“There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood. Touch of manner. Hint of mood; and my heart is like a rhyme, with the yellow and purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills to see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; we must rise and follow her, when from every hill of flame she calls and calls each vagabond by name. – Bliss Carman

The very first line is written as if the author knows me personally, “there is something in the autumn that is native to my blood.” I think if you were to examine my blood at the microscopic level, you would find little pumpkin shaped plasma cells tumbling end over end and shifting color from orange then back to red. I’m almost positive (no pun intended) I’m right. I really do think October is a part of my very chemical makeup, and I think it has been for a very long time. Is it odd to identify so strongly with a month? Obviously I don’t think so.

Then comes the next thought, “and my heart is like a rhyme, with the yellow and purple and the crimson keeping time.” Ok, first of all, I love the word crimson. It is so much better than merely saying red, and what a wonderful idea, a heart beating to the rhythm of the fall colors. Yellow. Boom. Purple. Boom. Crimson. Boom, boom. They forgot the vibrant wonder that is orange but I forgive them as orange is hard to rhyme.

“The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry of bugles going by.” The writer had me at scarlet which is another marvelous word; and the fact that the mere color of the trees can shake the author so powerfully, I feel that way all the time. I just talked about it with the example of the car going over the dancing leaves. There is so much beauty in October days that it takes my breath away. There are so many things to see, smell and taste that it is almost an assault on the senses. Farmers markets, nature, mazes, decorations, the night sky, leaves, everything conspires to get your attention; the glisten of an apple with fresh morning dew or the rasp of a cornstalk blowing in the breeze. It’s wonderful, an embarrassment of riches.

“There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir.” Exactly. I couldn’t have said it better myself. It turns out, I also have gypsy blood running rampant in my veins. Whenever the fall starts to peek out from underneath the skirts of summer I get this incredible feeling of wanderlust. I just want to get in my car and drive, it doesn’t matter where, I’ll know when I get there. I just want to see things; new things, old things, beautiful things, anything, everything.

As the poem intimates, October is calling each of us, the question is, will we heed the call?