Unexpected Perks

When trying to sell Adelaide on the idea of moving across the country, we brought up a number of points:

We'll be close to New York!

Close to the ocean!

They have a lot more ice cream shops!

There's a massive used bookstore in CT with a number of live-in cats!

Free tickets to Disney World, which, okay, maybe doesn't excite you, but it greatly increases your chances of visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter!


Some of these she seemed to take in and ponder, and some she lobbed right back at us.  One pro I never even considered, however, was the cemeteries.

That's right:  Connecticut has loads more dead people than Iowa!  Yaaa...ay?

Daughter and I both appreciate a good graveyard.  It doesn't take much to make it "good" in our estimation, either; really just a few headstones that are legible.  There's something about getting only a few tantalizing details to a greater story that sets your feet to walking to read the next one, and the next one, and the next, forever and ever until both Atticus and Caedmon are slumped on the ground moaning and wondering aloud, "Whhhyyyy do you like dead things so much?" 

What's not to like?  I mean, just look at the winged cherub (or is it a death's head?) on this one!

AND look at the dates on this one!  We'd explored a number of Iowa cemeteries, and I apparently had that kind of timeline in my head; when we walked to our first cemetery here in town I thought maybe we'd get lucky and see a few Civil War-ear headstones.  Imagine my delight at so many pre-Revolutionary War inscriptions!  I am admittedly a down-to-the-bone Midwesterner who is impressed with this kind of antiquity.  Don't get me wrong; I still appreciate a good Iowa pioneer cemetery, and you'll find an entirely different kind of history in the cemeteries of the Midwest that's just as fascinating. 

But look at these names!

You just don't see a lot of "Hephzibah, Relict of Hosea Goodrich"-type markings in the middle of our massive country.  And yes, I have a lot more pictures like these clogging up the camera roll of my phone. 

And these were just the local cemeteries- we haven't even begun to search out some of the older or well-known within CT, of which there are so many!  Please take my word for this, unless you knowingly want to trip down that internet hole, in which case might I suggest you start here or here or maybe here.


I do have more than just pictures of tombstones on my phone, I'll have you know.  I can't get too up in arms, though, because it's mostly just screenshots of books I want to read,

ideas relating to house projects,

recipes,

and pictures of our kids working.  Because nothing gives me greater joy.

I didn't choose the boring life, the boring life chose- oh, wait, yes I did!

Magnificent, Magical Monday

That title up there is a blatant bid for some self-fulfilling prophecy-type action.  I'm sure there's a book out there somewhere- no doubt shelved in "Self Improvement"- that says that very thing, along the lines of "If you write it, it will become your truth.  Believe in your spirit's ability to guide you through the shoals of life, and embrace all the colors of you."

Holy crap, you guys.  Slap an unearned honorific somewhere in my name and I could have my very own cult.  'Cause girls just wanna be cult leaders- I'm pretty sure there was an 80's pop song to that effect.  Kool-aid, anyone?

I think the only way to keep this post from devolving into complete madness is to compose a list.  Because lists solve everything!

• This morning before school, Atticus put on a pair of pants.  (Whew!  What a narrative hook, RIGHT?)  Actually, he put on four pairs of pants, because it's that time of year again:

He's been wearing shorts for months and I've been able to pretend he has a dresser-full of clothes that fit him.  Because surely he hasn't spent the last three months outgrowing all his clothing.  That would be preposterous and entirely without precedent!

Okay, so maybe he grew the tiniest bit over the summer, but not enough to outgrow clothes that fit him perfectly well in the spring!  There's no way he grew, let's see....

Two and a quarter inches in a year.  Although really, for Atticus, that's some pretty restrained growing.

• Last week we were a bit early for Adelaide's piano lesson, so I did what any good mother does:  
  

Yes.  I pulled into the little cemetery we drive past every week.  I think it's a testament to my incredible self-restraint that I haven't taken the kids on a tour of this one before, because I love me a good graveyard, and this one is in a tiny, tiny town- not even a town, actually; it has no post office, no local government, just a smattering of houses, a sod farm, and a winery in the middle of rural Iowa.  Obviously a cemetery there is going to be fun.

And look!  Our curiosity was rewarded!

Adelaide and I spotted this structure in a back corner of the cemetery, and while she thought maybe it was an old tiny house (or Tiny House, I suppose- have you seen that show, or the documentary about those things?  Because she is obsessed with them, claiming that when she grows up she is going to have a midnight blue truck in order to haul her Tiny House around behind it.), I thought it was a supply shed for whomever maintains the lot.

But nay!  We were both wonderfully, beautifully wrong!

That is a smile that can only be wrested from Daughter upon the discovery of an old outhouse.  Is it sad that she and I were equally delighted to open the door and find the bench with its necessary hole?  I say, "No."  Derek, just... don't answer.

• I read this book over the weekend:

I was a little hesitant to pick it up, as it was labeled a thriller and I am a self-avowed pansy.  But a story about a woman who wakes up every day, no knowledge of any of the days leading up to it, having to re-learn that she's married, that she was in a terrible accident, that her short term memory erases itself each time she enters deep sleep- well, that sounds like a good one.

The book ended up reminding me a bit of Gone Girl, except I didn't hate every single person in it, which is a major plus for me.  It had the twisting plot and chilling aspects of GG, along with the driving need to figure out what the heck is going on here?  I enjoyed it very much, and for my fellow 'fraidy cats, it wasn't too terribly scary.

Rest In Peace

Does anyone else here have a thing for cemeteries?

I love walking through graveyards, cemeteries, whatever you want to call them.  I like looking at old headstones, newer ones that are creatively inscribed, family plots.  I'm not sure what this says about me.

One of my favorite cemeteries is in Hartford, Connecticut; it contains lots of fascinating markers with Death's head, and many of them give a much more detailed history of the life of the person buried there than their modern counterparts.  They also tend to provide the cause of death:  "Lost at Sea," or "Taken by Consumption."  I like stories, and it's easier to imagine someone's story if their grave fills in a couple blanks.

I think another reason I like walking through graveyards is because there's very little creepiness for me.  The thought of a person's earthly body after death and their immortal soul are so divorced in my mind that I don't think of the deceased loved one as actually being in that grave in any way.  The grave stone is simply a memorial and a way for those left behind to remember the family member or friend.

Our family has spent most of the past week down at my mom's house in southern Kansas.  She and her friend Debby walk just about every day, often through one of the prettier cemeteries in my hometown.  I accompanied them one morning a few days ago.  They obviously spend a lot of time there; they knew right where all our old friends are buried and gave me a thorough tour.

If you don't enjoy interesting headstones, cemeteries, or I've already offended you in some way, you should probably stop reading now.  Fair warning.



One of our first stops was to see Teresa.  Hi, Teresa!

There were a bunch of Civil War veterans' headstones all in a row, which are always interesting.

This one was a husband and wife headstone with a picturesque engraving of a farm.  The husband's side reads, "Stranger to No One, Friend to All," and the wife's, "Always a Giver, Never a Taker."  What a beautiful epitaph.

A playful statue of a boy and girl on a teeter totter drew me toward this family plot.  I still think it's lovely, even if the fact that this family lost three small children in just a few years is rather sobering.  

We also made sure to visit the graves of Barack Obama's maternal grandparents.  I'm pretty sure this means me and Mr. President are practically related.

That's right, when my mom asked if I wanted my picture taken with them, my answer was, "Um, YES."  There was a single red rose in front of each grave.  Maybe I just missed the president.

After looking at all those graves, I've pretty much decided that I want a small, simple headstone, with a large bed of flowers planted right on top of the length of my body, like I saw at one grave.  I like to think I'd make pretty good flower food. 

It's never too early to start planning, right?