Terrapin Station

Zion Cemetery, Frisco

Frisco, Texas used to be one of those little wide spots in the road in North Texas. In the years since I've lived here, it's exploded, especially in this past year. Population is now 177,286, while in 1990 it was 6517. 

I had an errand to run there today and passed by the Zion Cemetery, so I stopped in on my way home. 

It's on a fairly steep hill for this area. The marker gives the history: 

Though it was very muddy from recent storms, I wandered a bit. 

 

My grandfather's gravestone says, "A loving and honest man is the noblest work of God." So I loved this one. And the lichen!

 

This one breaks my heart. Did Mr. Hawkins never marry? Did his wife end up somewhere else? Surely she's not still alive...! I can't make out the smaller inscriptions. 

 

"Just in the morning of his day, in youth and love he died." 28 years old.

 

And here's some proof that it's still very much an active cemetery. I know this name; Noles Equipment was their business. Cemeteries tell me parts of stories, and obituaries, which I adore, tell more. Here's Mrs. Noles' obit. 

 

There's also a "ghost story" associated with this cemetery, but it's so stupid and disrespectful that I'm not going to link to it. 

 

I stood on that hill and wondered what the folks who started being buried there in 1859 would think of the view now. Take a look and a listen. There's wind noise, but there's also road noise from 423, and construction just to the south, and houses as far as the eyes can see. The sleeping acre is at peace, but with a little more competition than there used to be. 

 

 

 

I can cook!

That is, I can arouse myself from the torpor of daily living to chop things and make a meal. 

It started with egg salad from our Easter Egg hunt finds. I chopped celery, onion, eggs, added mayo. Pretty simple. When I finished, there was a real, created product for Ken to eat. 

I was astonished at how good that felt to do, and how long it seems to have been since I've done that. We've been eating frozen food, take out food. 

This past week: 

I made an apple dump cake in the crock pot. I bought and chopped toppings for tacos, and I remembered cilantro (which I never do). I made a pot of pinto beans. I have ingredients for soup and for quiche.

This is not cordon bleu stuff. But it is creative act. It is nourishment. It is nurturance. 

Grief is not forever. 

I arise a little more every day. 

Dying

 

 When I typed the title above, I mistyped it: "Daying."

Which is actually true, and what I want to say.

It will be clear to those who follow me carefully (?) that I have a great interest in end-of-life issues. I have read much on this in the past few years, and it's clear to me that our society is mired in worship of youth and refusal to accept the inevitability of death. (This is not headline news.)

Talking with my sister yesterday, we agreed that neither of us is afraid to DIE, that is, cross over and be dead. What we are concerned about is being old and sick and helpless, and  without nurture. That we will not have the loving care from family that we have given and want to give to our own loved ones.

And the key, to me, is that every day I live, I also die, a little tiny bit.

I'm fifty. Suddenly, like never before, small injuries don't heal quite right. My skin is doing things it never did before (or refusing to do what it did before...) My hearing is affected. Losing weight is harder.

II think that every day I need to consider my current dying status, and what I want to do in tandem with it. It all sounds quite Buddhist.

It's commonly understood that people get smarter about these things as they get older, and that's where I am now, I suppose. Where I start telling young people, "just wait..." and they think, "yeah right" and do not believe it because they will have to be shown.

 (St. George Island, FL)

The Farrises of 100F Street

The day I interviewed for my job in Denton, I was driven through the International Order of Odd Fellows Cemetery. It wasn't on purpose, but there's a city street that goes through two sections of it.  I stopped what I was saying to my host and exclaimed, "Oh, wow! Look at this great cemetery!"

Fortunately, my host was a person with a sense of humor, and I was hired. 

I love my city and its quirky history, and I love the I.O.O.F. cemetery.  One of the streets that borders it, across from apartments and rent houses, is named "I.O.O.F. Street." I once was picking up a friend  who told me that she lived at "a street called One Hundred F street." Once I figured out what she was talking about, I explained the real meaning of those initials to her. She'd had no idea. "I always thought that was a weird name for a street," she said. (Do you know about the Odd Fellows? Want to learn more? )

Denton Lodge No. 82 of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.) was chartered in 1859 by a number of the area's most prominent settlers, including John S. Chisum of the Chisum Trail fame. That year I.O.O.F. charter member and Denton merchant James M. Smoot (1822-1862) donated land here for graveyard purposes. The lodge subdivided the cemetery into four sections, each of which contained 350 burial plots. The first recorded burial was that of Anne Isabella Carroll, infant daughter of Joseph and Celia Carroll, in 1860. The site served as Denton's main graveyard and by the early 1880s space had become scarce. In 1883 the lodge enlarged the cemetery by 7.5 acres acquired from adjacent landowners John and Ann McMurray; 6.5 acres acquired from the McMurrays in 1916 further enlarged the cemetery. By the early 1920s burial space was again limited, and in 1924 the cemetery was enlarged by four acres. After maintaining the cemetery for more than 60 years the lodge deeded the 22-acre site to the city of Denton in 1933. Among the approximately 5,800 people buried here are pioneer Denton County settlers, local and state elected officials, and veterans of wars ranging from the Texas Revolution to World War II.

Sometimes I walk and look at graves. Today I went there with a purpose. I've reinvigorated my work on my family tree at Ancestry.com, and I was searching for birth dates of some relatives. I found my way to FindaGrave.com, an interesting site where you can search for pictures of graves of famous and ordinary folk, and share your own. In making an account, I gave my zip code, and quickly I got a request from the system asking if I could go to the I.O.O.F. Cemetery and take pictures of five graves, as requested by other members.  Two gave the specific section, block, and plot, so I was sure I could do those easily. I was looking for two members of the Farris family who died in 1890. 

After work today I headed over to the cemetery. I picked up a map at the front and headed back to block B...what is clearly one of the four oldest sections in the cemetery, mentioned above. From newspaper stories, I knew that there had been a lot of vandalism in this area, and it was readily apparent.  Many of the stones in this area are unreadable, but in the section where I was headed, there were only two graves.  Some similar sections had 10 graves in them. And this is the area that was full, full, full. 

Somehow, over the years, these gravestones have gone missing. Where? Who can say? I once spotted two old gravestones sitting in the yard of a house on the street behind mine. I was furious, and called the police. But they are still there.

I have always loved cemeteries, but I don't have a history of going to them to "visit" people in them (except my grandparents, who are buried in possibly the coolest cemetery ever, in Tallahassee.) I plan to be cremated, and my parents do, as well. So why the big love for them? I think it's the same thing that keeps me reading obituaries...every single person there had a life. Had people who loved them, wept when they died.

I knew that the Farrises were there today, whether or not their headstones were, and I said "hey" to them. And then I came home and told you this story. 

PS 1: There is a geocache in this cemetery. Just in case you wanted to know. 

PS 2: There is a semifamous sign there, too:

This is by the front gate...you can only get in the one way. And you can never leave.    

Hail and Farewell, Eric Aadhaar O'Gorman

My branch for Aadhaar, along with my friend the squirriel having his breakfast

Today was the memorial service in Australia for my friend, Eric Aadhaar O'Gorman. 

Here are some instructions he wrote in a blog post before he died, that was put up by a friend after his death: 

If you are attending the funeral, please dress as if you were going out for a lovely lunch or something like that; don't be afraid of colours, or celebration, for it will be a celebration of life as much as a ritual of its passing.  Please bring with you a spray of foliage; a small branch or twig of leaves from a favourite tree or shrub, or any plant that speaks to you along the way; of the right sort of size to act as a fly swisher or a  fan.  This will be used in the ceremony, so hang on to it.

If you wish to attend but cannot and would like to participate in my passing, then maybe consider a small ritual of your own.  Find yourself a suitable little branch of leaves, a beautiful quiet spot with an outlook on something natural, and meditate on the life that runs through you.  The life that runs through your being from crown to footsoles, that courses through your switch of foliage, that extends around the planet and is the very same energy with which you and I are connected.  Meditate on the Oneness of you and I and everything, and if you are moved to do so, bring your memories of me to mind.  Then take your fan of leaves, and swish me away. See my spirit rising up before you as if a wreath of fragrant smoke, and fan my spirit back home.  Guide my spirit upward and outward, fan me away, and let me go.  Dissolve.  When you are done, return your little branch to nature as best you see fit; fire, compost, or just left gently on the earth under some trees.  And say a prayer for yourself.  Perhaps the one below.

And also, have a wonderful day.

Great Spirit, whose voice in the winds I hear,

And whose breath gives life to all the world. Hear me.

Before you I come, one of your many children.

Small and weak am I.

Your strength and wisdom I need.

Make me walk in beauty.

Make me respect all you have made,

My ears to hear your voice.

Make me wise that I may know all you have taught we people,

The lessons you have hidden in every rock.

I seek strength not to be superior to my brother,

Make me able to overcome my greatest enemy, myself.

Make me ready to stand before you with clean and straight eyes.

When life fades, as the fading sunset,

May my spirit stand before you without shame.

(adapted from Chief Yellow Lark of the Lakota, North America).

I just saw the message with funeral details this morning, so I missed participating last night, at the same time as those in Australia, but it doesn't matter. 

This morning I went out into the side yard and cut the small branch you see in the vase.  The bough sprang up when I did, as if it were glad for the release. 

I took it to work with me today, to commemorate my friend.  I took its photo while My Friend the Squirrel was having breakfast.  When I got back home this evening, I went out into the yard with the branch and burned some sage and remembered. 

I am grateful for what I learned from Eric Aadhaar about blenderized diets and courage and humor and facing death. 

Friday Five: The Week in Review

Sally set this Friday Five at RevGals, but I wasn't able to do it then. Taking a quick minute to look within and see:

This week, what has

Encouraged you? The messages of support, particularly when we were stuck in the Tallahassee airport for 6+ hours on Thursday. Those are times when you need to feel less alone and the Facebookies came through for me!!!

Inspired you? The staff of the Tallahassee airport who went above and beyond to make us feel as comfortable as possible during the long wait. They brought out airport cookies, bottled water and ice...but also several boxes of Girl Scout cookies that I am certain were personally owned by one of them. They carried cookies around to the passengers in serving trays made of coffee filters. :) The airport kept the snack bar open for an extra 2 hours so we could get dinner, and the staff there could not have been more cheerful and helpful, given the unanticipated Friday night overtime.

Challenged you? Helping my mom get (as smoothly as possible) to the funeral of her sister, where there was significant potential for very nasty conflict, and staying centered and NOT in a place of fear. It all turned out well. God is gracious and oh, people are generally so gracious too.

Made you smile? Spending time with a cousin that I have never known well and finding a real kindred spirit. She is the daughter of my mother's favorite cousin. Wonderful symmetry.

Brought a lump in your throat or a tear to your eye in a good way? Seeing my only maternal first cousins (Aunt Nancy's children) again...it has been many years, at least 20. Hearing Mother Terri say those words at the graveside: "We are all dust, and to dust we shall return; but even as we go down to the grave we make our song: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia."