honored dead

My cardio health, in October 2010, when the blog started first as a personal journal, then at Mary's firm suggestion moved to Caring-Bridge, it was about my heart issues and keeping loved ones, friends and neighbors up to the minute on how I was faring.

Continuing, though, starting maybe the day of the early February 2011 flight home from Cleveland Clinic, my decision was that if I posted every day, more or less daily - - which I've done (missing now and then because, although it's never the case that nothing occurs, everyone has to hell with it moments when we just don't want to do that today - - there'd be no series to it, no attempts to follow on with a previous day's post. So, they're jerky, here and there, this and that, as jerky as a 12-year-old boy driving a clutch and stick shift standard transmission car for the first time. And that's been pretty much the case. 

I also decided that there'd be no phony effort to pass myself off as some ethereal spiritual guru, which I'm somewhat religious but negative spiritual, in fact, spiritual writing generally bores me to tears. 

Also that whatever, the object would not be to acquire and entertain a readership, but to keep my brain working, mental exercise for the septua-now-octogenarian. For myself I call it My Nonsense, which it pretty much has been and is. But for an online title I consulted Jeremy about European football and applied timekeeping rules to the phases of my health condition before, up to and as from October 2010, which I called Regular Time, then from leaving ECP until I woke from surgery still alive I called Stoppage Time; and from waking up alive and seeing beloved faces until whenever the centre referee calls the match is Plus Time that I wasn't entitled to.

Roughly after soccer rules, though Plus Time not Extra Time, because, as I say, somewhat religious as a priest, a Plus + gives me an opportunity to credit the Grace of Providence with a Cross. Thus, +Time, and thank you, Lord. 

Just so then, don't expect this morning's blogpost to be in any way a continuation of yesterday's.

Matter of fact, after the Friday walk and breakfast, I drove west on W 23rd Street to the traffic light, turned left to drive south on Lisenby Avenue, and right at, what? 18th Street? and right again into Greenwood to visit a couple of special friends. In fact, as is the case for me and will be the case for any reader fortunate to reach my advanced age, I have several old friends there, and many more whom I knew or knew of.

First often, then maybe once a month or so, nowadays just from time to time, I stop in just to honor myself with their memory. And every couple of years or so, I take pause, Time to drive around and stop and walk here and there to explore, and meet folks I had not previously known. 

That's what I did this morning. Some red camellias are still in bloom, though falling. The hurricane devastated the cemetery, but someone, maybe the City, has been through and cleaned up beautifully. One can see clearly from fence to fence east to west, north to south. The broad open "avenues" are clear, driving is easy and safe. Grave markers that before the storm were obscure with age and dirt are clean, maybe sprayed with a pressure wash, such that they all look new. Throughout, and inexplicably, I found only one single burial plot that appeared not to have been honored or touched at all, overgrown with heavy brush and some graves out of sight. Which I didn't understand but then I don't need to understand. Maybe an owner said don't dare touch it, IDK. But not a point or issue, I just took note of that.

 Greenwood is Panama City's old historic cemetery. Almost every plot has a family name recognizable in my memory or in the history of our town. Over my own years as priest and pastor, I officiated any number of burials there. It's a good place. Especially right now after the storm when almost everything has been cleaned and cleared. Gone is the deep sadness I felt the last Time I went and browsed, and found many plots too overgrown even to get to the gravestones. Even people long forgotten because they're so long dead and gone that their loved ones also are long gone, are honored almost as if someone still remembers. 

A cemetery is not a macabre or maudlin place. It's a good place. Especially to stir memories. I did see a lot of national flags this morning. And I noticed several graves that once might have been decorated with the Confederate battle flag now have the Stars and Bars. With an entirely out of place and inappropriate touch of anger and bitterness, I wondered somewhat sarcastically while I was there, if there won't in due course be those self-righteous who come through and want the cemetery razed and turned into a parking lot or dump because they don't like that we honor our dead who fought in an era that was a dark place in our national history. I feel my brow darkening, but I don't think I'll go down that rabbit hole, at least not in writing, not right now.

A chill morning, windy and in the low forties. Dark and not pleasant out, but turning lovely and beautiful to be alive. 

T+