Ernest Hemingway:

As Ernest Hemingway once said...
'All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.'

Friday, May 18, 2007

blink an eye and they fly II

It seems the frequency of my posting correlates directly with my workload here at the good ol' 9-5. Or 8-5. Whatever happened to 9-5, anyway? Dolly? Seriously, I think I've had maybe five substantial things to do this entire week. Come on. I like the internets as much as the next person, and am constantly amazed by the fantastic content out there like this site (good for at least a daily cackle), there's only so much aimless surfing one can do.

Yesterday was the 2 year anniversary of the death of my friend, Shorty. Do you call it that? An anniversary? I guess, even though it seems kind of weird. To me 'anniversary' evokes good feelings. How about death day? Like 'yesterday was Shorty's death day?' I suppose there's no good way to say it. It's awkward no matter what.

Kind of like figuring out what to get to put on her grave. Flowers? They seem so cheesy, and Shorty wasn't a flower kind of girl. Plus the crappy Snoocks I went to didn't have a great selection. The cheapest ones were over $6. Somehow spending that on something that will sit and die on Shorty's grave didn't seem right to my frugal (that's one way to say it) self. So I opted for a small potted plant. It had reddish leaves and big red blooms. Not flowers, more like a cone shaped thingy. A botanist I am not. This one set me back $2. Much better. And it'll probably last a lot longer than flowers.

The awkwardness followed me again to the cemetery. This time I found her grave without much trouble, unlike the past few times (once I had to get someone from the cemetery to help me - seriously awkward. Apparently I'd made a mental note the last time that it sat under a small tree, and there it was. It was just like last time. The little dog was still there, looking a bit worse for the wear. Stuffed animals + outside elements = not a great combo. There were some fake flowers in the little vase on her headstone, and a bunch of red roses that had been there for some time. They were one step away from being reclaimed by the earth.

It was a beautiful day. To push away the awkwardness, I set to work arranging her things on the headstone. I brushed off errant leaves and whatnot, and cleaned the grass sprayed by a mower off of the vase. I got a pen from my purse to write 'Miss you Shorty' on the flowerpot. I took a couple of pictures (morbid, yes, but the light and angle were perfect to capture her last name, the flowerpot, the vase with fake flowers, and the dog keeping guard beneath it). Then I ran out of things to do. What does one do at a cemetery? It's weird. I felt like a tool standing there, so I sat down for a while. The sun was nice. The day was very similar to her last death day (yes, that's better, feels more natural). I thought about what we used to do on these days back in college, and sent good thoughts out to her, wherever she is.

Then I got back in the car and listened to Terri Gross on NPR interview Alice Cooper. Great interview. He's quite a guy.

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