The Complaint Department

Mortal's Eye View

 

I'm not worthy.  I'm not worthy.

Holy Fire Hydrant, Batman!

Another Day . . . Another Graveyard

I visited this church the other day.

 

 

As they say, it didn't take long to stay an hour.  Come with me and I'll show you why.

 

 

It has tidy lawns and teetering tombstones . . .

 

 

Old iron fences . . .

 

 

Creeping ivy . . .

 

 

Traditional tombstones . . .

 

 

Modern, too . . .

 

 

Humor and gravity . . .

 

 

Professional pride . . .

 

 

Views for you . . .

 

 

. . . and a place for the living to rest.

Another Year Bites the Dust

I had a birthday last week.

Tony had some lovely flowers delivered to me here at home, and we then went out for an early dinner at a new Mexican restaurant here in Small Town.

Have you ever noticed that American-Mexican food is every bit as predictable as American-Chinese?   (Except maybe for those of you who live in the Southwest.)  It is always, ALWAYS the same.  And not very authentic.

I know this for certain because when I was a teenager, I had a Mexican-American boyfriend; we'll call him Joe.  We attended the same high school for a while.  Back then, he was known as a Chicano, but that term is probably not PC these days.

I was warmly welcomed into the family, and often enjoyed meals with them.  Joe's mother made wonderful, tasty Mexican food, and it was never anything like the food one finds in these "Mexican" restaurants.  I don't remember Joe's Mom ever serving sour cream, guacamole or slivers of iceberg lettuce.  Or soupy refried beans with melted cheese on top.  Or bland pink-ish rice.  Everything she fixed was from scratch, and there were plenty of spices and green chilies and other peppers and big hunks of vegetables.

Anyway, Tony and I were disappointed with our meal.  It wasn't even very good by the low standards of most American-Mexican cuisine.  For some reason, there just aren't that many decent restaurants of any kind down our way.  Maybe our expectations are low, so nobody really tries.

      

After our early, geezer meal, we drove down the road a few miles to take a walk around Quaint Tourist Town.  The weather was great, so it was a totally pleasant hour or so.

If I attended church, I would go here:  Our Lady Star of the Sea.  How's that for a name?  Before I moved down here, decades ago now, I never heard of Catholic church with a name like that.  It was always St. this' or that's.

That sidewalk looks pretty imposing, doesn't it?  It might be easier for me to take that long walk if there were some hopscotch games along the way.  Ha ha ha.

Can you tell I might be a little tormented in the spiritual sense?

Good Fences

Good fences . . .

 

. . . keep out the whirlygigs.

At Rest

Who doesn't love a cemetery?

On my way up to visit my mother yesterday at her assisted living center (let's just call the place "Antique Village"), I stopped off at one of our local churches here in Calvert County, Maryland, to snap a few pictures.  When Mom asked me why I was late, I told her that I got held up shopping for a grave site for her.  Don't worry, she has a great sense of humor, despite the dementia.  She turns 85 next week.

Anyway, Mom already has final resting digs.  (Ha ha ha.  Digs.  Get it?)  She'll be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, when the time comes, along with my Dad.

The local cemetery surrounds this quaint little chapel.  Don't you just love the little red door?And the windows!  To die for!  I think I was inside a long time ago.  I believe it was very plain--bare, even, because, you see, it's  . . . an Episcopal church.

Me, I come from a Catholic tradition, and we're always rather taken aback by the lack of sumptuous decoration in many of the other denominations' houses of worship--even if we haven't set foot in our own churches in a very, very, very long time.

Still, I would like to be buried in a cemetery next to a little church like this.  But then I'd have to join a church, I suppose.  It's like when I was looking at assisted living places for Mom.  I called a couple which were part of larger, continuing care retirement communities.  They wouldn't accept a person for assisted living who had not already paid their dues by purchasing an independent living share in the operation.

I actually visited two cemeteries yesterday, the second by sheer happenstance.  Mom and I have a pretty set routine during our weekly visits.  We pick up and sort through her mail, have lunch at a restaurant, run errands, and maybe visit the hairdresser.  And, we almost always take a drive.  Mom is from farm country up in the Canadian Maritimes, so she really enjoys getting out in the nearby countryside.  We stumbled upon this place.  I've never been to a cemetery which was in deep woods before.  It was a gloomy, dark place, damp and quiet, way off the beaten path and very neglected.  Even the sign.

It didn't look as though the graves had seen any visitors for many years.  I saw some very degraded artificial poinsettias decorating a cluster of headstones.  Many of the other markers were damaged: cracked, leaning or fallen over entirely.  Lots of trees had fallen or were leaning precariously on the others.

 

Hidden from the public eye, dark, damp and decaying, I found the place compelling.

Peaceful and quiet, and sad.

Who doesn't love a cemetery?