Take a Spooky Walk With Me
Take a Spooky Walk With Me
Let's stroll through the cemetery together and read headstone engravings.
Hi, it’s me.
Fall in Seattle is better than where you live. It’s not even worth arguing about it. Around here this month is often referred to as Fogtober because, well, morning fog:
When you live across the street from a cemetery like I do, you often hear the joke about having quiet neighbors. I don't mind. As a city-dweller who lives just a few blocks from several busy main streets, I love our little urban oasis where I can watch the sun rise through the trees, listen to woodpeckers tapping for bugs, and hear the occasional coyote cry or owl hoot.
A few years ago I was talking to a couple of coworkers about how I lived across the street from a cemetery. I thought I heard one of them say her mom lived in the neighborhood, and I responded with, “Wonderful! Where exactly? I’m on the corner of {such and such} with the big garden!”
Both coworkers blinked at me awkwardly.
My eyes darted between them while my brain caught up to what she had actually said.
“Ohhhh…. Did you mean your mom is BURIED there?”
Yes. Yes, that’s what she meant. And this is what it’s like to be in a conversation with me.
Every day I take a break from work to stretch my mind and legs on a walk through the cemetery. I work from home and spend most of my day sitting at a desk in my tiny office in the back of our house. My “office” is more like a walk-in closet, really. When I get up from my oversized L-shaped desk to go to the bathroom, my chair hits the wall behind me. To get out, I have to turn it and lean back while sliding my legs out toward the door, then I can stand, turn sideways, and side-step my way out of the room.
Sometimes my oversized butt grazes items on my desk as I walk by, knocking them to the floor. To pick the items up, I have to exit my office, turn sideways in the other direction, side-step back into the room, and bend down or kneel with my shoulders stacked parallel to the wall so I can fit between the desk and the wall to reach the butt-knocked item off the floor.
Wait…how did I get off topic? Let’s try this again…
Every day, a 3:00 alarm reminds me to take a break and move my body so I don’t permanently form to the shape of my chair. The gravel road that meanders through the cemetery is perfect for a fifteen minute stretch break—I don’t have to think about where I’m going or make decisions. I simply walk out my door to the street, follow the fence line to the cemetery entrance, and crunch crunch crunch along the gravel road that loops around inside, stopping only 42,000 times for my dog to tinkle on every twig, rock, and tree.
When I was a kid, my dad took me to Disneyland. While waiting in line for the haunted mansion ride, we queued back and forth through a “cemetery” of punny headstones and animatronic ghouls that kept me interested and engaged. I was delighted to discover one headstone that read, “Dear Departed Brother Dave. He chased a bear into a cave.”
This tickled me.
“Dad! Your name is Dave! They have a headstone with your name on it!”
Sometimes when I walk through the real cemetery across the street from my house, I veer off the gravel path to meander through rows of grave markers and headstones, many of them dating back to the late 1800s and early 1900s. Most of these historical markers list only names and dates. Some of the more modern stones have portraits carved into them, or personalized statements. One entire section of the cemetery, I’m convinced, belongs to the Russian mafia.
(I would tell you why I think this, but I’m afraid they’d come after me.)
The widest headstone in the whole cemetery marks the resting place of a married couple. In addition to names and dates, a message carved into the granite reads, “They were the perfect couple!” I wish Bryan and I had known them, because being part of a perfect couple isn’t easy and Perfect Couple Friends are super rare. I guess we’ll just keep looking.
Another headstone that marks the resting place of a teenager reads, “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”
One woman’s headstone reads, “In loving memory of my wife. The matutinal song of the birds will be always with you. Rest in Peace.” I had to google “matutinal.” It means of or in the morning.
A baby who lived only eight days is memorialized with the words, “Our Little Love.”
One man’s headstone lists 29 words to describe him. It includes classic attributes like fearless, encouraging, and storyteller, but also curious descriptors like pea soup, numismatist, never normal, and flaneur. For some reason, I assumed this man died young, like in his 30s or 40s. A list that held such detailed personal attributes and inside jokes—not to mention the spare-no-expense cost of such a lengthy engraving—struck me as the passion project of old college buddies whose future adventures would forever be incomplete without this friend’s presence.
Surprisingly, this man was 91 years old when he died. From his gravestone alone I can deduce that he was probably a loving dad or favorite uncle, or maybe he was actively engaged in community relationships as a teacher or mentor. His world was filled with people who felt loved and seen by him, people who were young and grateful and had the means to memorialize what he meant to them.
(I’ve been watching The Mentalist lately, and it shows. Apparently I’m a CBI profiler now.)
I used to joke that when I died, my kids would engrave, “Drink a glass of water,” on my headstone. Got a headache? Drink a glass of water. Hungry, but it’s not quite dinner time yet? Drink a glass of water. Hiccups? Drink a glass of water.
(It’s probably unrelated that neither of my kids (who are now in college) can bear to be more than an arm’s length away from a 32-ounce water bottle.)
The truth is, I don’t actually want a headstone. When I die, I want to be composted or cremated, not buried. But if I did want a headstone, I wonder if the kids might engrave something like this:
We’ll always treasure her last words: ‘Are you being serious right now?’
I don’t get it.
Where have I seen that actor before?
One of you cuts, the other chooses.
So I guess I’m dying all by myself then? With NOBODY to help me?!
(These are my best guesses because the kids just rolled their eyes when I asked them what they’d write.)
What would be engraved on your headstone? Let me know in the comments.
Or if you want to use this as a writing prompt, create a backstory for one of these departed souls.
Until next time,
Jen
If you like this one, you might also like…
…this one about a mysterious character who left mysterious symbols at the edge of the graveyard!
Shows I’m into lately
Bad Monkey (AppleTV) - Goofy, but I’ll watch anything with Vince Vaughn in it.
Slow Horses (AppleTV) - Gary Oldman is a treasure, and I love his merry band of misfit spies.
Shrinking (AppleTV) - Laughter, grief, and tears wrapped up in a taco is my vibe.
Only Murders in the Building (Hulu) - Not quite finished with the most recent season, but I love this adorable show and all of its fun guest appearances.
The Old Man (Hulu) - Political spy thrillers are my favorite, and I love this particular angle of geriatric spies in the field!
The Lincoln Lawyer (Netflix) - Your basic legal procedural show that doesn’t ask a lot from you while trying to unwind before bed.
The Great British Baking Show (Netflix) - I mean, do I have to explain it?
Hacks (HBO1) - A show about comedy writing with some of the best character development I’ve ever seen? Yes, please.
Elsbeth (Paramount+) - Hands down, she was THE BEST character in The Good Wife and The Good Fight, and I’m ecstatic that she gets her own show. It’s a Columbo-style New York based murder mystery show that is the perfect canvas for Elsbeth’s quirkiness.
What are you watching?
I refuse to call it MAX. How dumb.
Such a fun blog to read. You continue to tickle me with your wit and great sense of humor. 😘 happy Halloween 🎃 👻
The guy was clearly a Minnesotan that died traveling in Washington. Skol Vikings! (They spelled it wrong because they weren't from minnesota and didnt know better.)
Also my friends would put something like, "this is an unfortunate situation". They recently pointed out i say situation a lot and now I can't stop noticing how true that is.
John would put, "i can't explain the world to you" which us my go to for pretty much everything he says.
I seriously think we might put on my mom's headstone "I don't know what to tell you, she did what she had to do" because that is her go to explanation for everything she does.
Nothing comes to mind for what riss would write but will be asking her later. Will also probably get an eye roll.
Good stuff.
Also I felt clostrophobic reading about your office set up. Deep breath.