What I ended up doing this afternoon, besides doing a couple of errands, was visit a cemetery. (I’ll spare both of you my cemetery jokes.) Feeling weary and worn and pointless and blah as I am, it was a good thing to do.
I’ve done this on purpose a couple other times—you know, just wandering among the graves, thinking about the years this person lived or that person died, whether I knew the family or not. This sounds weird, but I figure a few of you will know what I mean. There was a delightful little cemetery over near Short Tract, New York, and I knew a couple family names in the area. There was a beautiful, large one with a western view of some grand peaks in Wyoming. Today, not quite so scenic, but a little more purposeful.
It was actually serendipitous. I was driving, and there it was—the cemetery that houses two of my grandparents’ bodies. Plus, I had read only a week or two ago that this same lawn also houses the bodies of one of the founders of the nearby university. So I stopped. I wandered. I noticed some other names I know.
Berryhill (4 of ’em) and Mattox.
Then I found the Armstrongs. J.N. Armstrong was the first Harding president (and son-in-law of James A. Harding, for whom the school was named).
And, next to them, the Searses. (Yes, that’s the correct plural.) L.C. Sears was a well-respected academic dean and professor. Plus, he married the Armstrongs’ daughter.
Finally, I found my grandparents’ graves. It had been a few years.
Remembering other lives puts things in a little better perspective sometimes.
B. Casey, Feb. 6, 2016