I come from a family that doesn't do a lot of cemetery visiting and decorating. This isn't to imply in any way that we don't remember our forebears. Far from it: Scarcely a visit goes by that my sister or I don't quote a parent, an aunt, or another relative, now long gone. We just aren't big cemetery goers. But Bonnie and I do go faithfully each year shortly before Christmas.
Many years ago, right after Sherry had read Gone With The Wind and was a young teen who hadn't entered the obnoxious phase yet, when Bonnie and I returned from a cemetery visit, my daughter inquired with a twinkle, "Was this connected with the Association For The Beautification Of The Graves Of Our Glorious Dead?" And the name stuck. We remember our dead fondly, but that doesn't mean we're reverent.
It was. In a manner of speaking. And it was a nicer day than it has been in the past few years.
First stop was to our uncle's grave, pictured above. We did a pretty good job of placing the spray, we thought. And shared fond memories of our uncle and aunt before heading around the roadway to our own parents. We didn't get as good a placement on this one. But in our defense, the stone is much shorter than the uncle's, and we're not as agile as we used to be.
Now there's a plot for an extended family located about halfway between "our" two stones. They aren't "our" people, but we've sort of adopted them because they are are big-time grave decorators. I mean, major. Lavish. They caught our eye some years ago, and they've never waivered in their devotion. So, it being a nice day and the ground dry and all, we went over to see what they had going on this year.
|This is the stone in the center. Another sweet little tree. And a lavish grave blanket. Assorted small statuary.|