When One Morphs Into Two (Days that is.)

My Great-Grandfather’s Marker, Family Patriarch

Yesterday, as I gathered together the various accoutrements (read: cans, rocks, aluminum foil) to get ready for making the cemetery decorations, I realized that the Decoration Day of long ago still exists.  We just do it a day earlier so that the graves at the cemetery look their best all day on Memorial Day.

Alice Stuckey, Flower Arranger Extraordinaire!

Maggie and her sister Alice came over about two to help actually pick the flowers, stuff the cans (most of which came from the Oysterville Schoolhouse Rummage Sale!) and help transport them and jugs of water up to the cemetery.  Thank you whoever donated those shiny coffee cans to the Rummage Sale!  And thank you, Tucker and Carol, for the rocks and pieces of brick to weight down the cans against the wind.  One way another, this is a holiday that still “takes a village.”

I add a bit of water to keep the flowers fresh.

If the wind and or rain hold off, the flowers will still look terrific for this morning’s celebration.  And, to quote the late Father Tom Williams, “It’s the most we can do, it’s the least we can do, it’s all we can do.”  I know the Espy forebears will be appreciative — especially those who have done their own “due diligence” in years past.

With Love and Remembrance and Eternal Love

I wonder who will be  decorating our plot when I join Nyel up there on Davis Hill.  Perhaps a relative.  More likely a neighbor.  Or perhaps our stones will go unnoticed like so many of the others.  I guess I’ll be beyond caring by then… But you never know, do you?

2 Responses to “When One Morphs Into Two (Days that is.)”

  1. sandy stonebreaker says:

    Relate to your “lament” of who will take over in terms of rememberance at the cemetary. As I ran thru who was left in the vicinity of graves in Ill. I came up with “no one”. Made me sad since that had been a major undertaking for my own, parents, then my sisters and some cousins all of who have joined those in the cemetary. Mostly I remember the hoping the peonies (however you prounounce it), the mock orange and lilacs might last long enuf to glean a few for graves. And, finally, the one and one half mile march of my high school band to the cemetary and back each year. I think there might have been a bit of a parade but don’t really remember; just marching when it was generally very hot.

  2. sydney says:

    Sandy, these are the kinds of concerns that make me wonder if there is such a thing as “living too long.” It is so painful to see some of the changes taking place in the world as we’ve known it and knowing that we won’t be around to see how (or if) they are resolved — or even worse, being unable to help improve matters. So… we limp along, hoping for the best.

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