Lucinda Matlock
I went to the dances at Chandlerville,
And played snap-out at Winchester.
One time we changed partners,
Driving home in the moonlight of middle June,
And then I found Davis.
We were married and lived together for seventy years,
Enjoying, working, raising the twelve children,
Eight of whom we lost
Ere I had reached the age of sixty.
I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed the sick,
I made the garden, and for holiday
Rambled over the fields where sang the larks,
And by Spoon River gathering many a shell,
And many a flower and medicinal weed—
Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to the green valleys.
At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all,
And passed to a sweet repose.
What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness,
Anger, discontent and drooping hopes?
Degenerate sons and daughters,
Life is too strong for you—
It takes life to love Life.
From The Spoon River Anthology by Kansan Edgar Lee Masters
Perpetual Joy: Where I blog about things that amuse me, tickle me, or generally make me feel good, and you scratch your head.
My father's headstone was placed in the cemetery last week, so Sunday I visited it. In my youth the cemetery was a place to drink beer or engage in other teenage hijinks. At 40 it's a much different place. I know many of the names on the headstones, and with those names I have a library of stories I could share. There's joy in these recollections, and of course, sadness.
It's difficult to stand in a cemetery and not be aware that the clock is ticking and there's not a darn thing I can do to stop it. All I can do is decide how I want to use the time I've been given. However, this type of contemplation often yields more questions than answers.
Amidst all this cloudy-with-a-chance-of-sunshine thinking, I was still able to find something to amuse me. On Mr. Roy Robert Heckman's headstone set a bag of circus peanuts.
Look closely. Do you see the Circus Peanuts? This tickled me. Were they there because Mr.
Heckman loved Circus Peanuts? Or was it an inside joke Mr.
Heckman shared with a granddaughter? I wanted to know the story behind the Circus Peanuts.
I guess it doesn't make much sense to snap photos of a bag of Circus Peanuts. It certainly doesn't make sense to write about them. This post is a little odd and disjointed (New blog name: Odd and Disjointed). However, I refuse to play by the rules. I'm intrigued by the stories that are products of this crazy world, and I'm especially intrigued by the obscure, the whimsical, or the things that most don't notice.
When you see graveside offerings, I'll be there. I'll be everywhere. Wherever you can look - wherever there's a ritual people deem outdated, I'll be there to document it. Wherever the world decides to stomp on the accelerator, I'll be there slamming on the brakes. I'll be there in the way guys howl against the glide of a slide guitar. I'll be in the way kids laugh when they visit the local ice cream shop. I'll be there when supper's ready, and when the people are eatin' the stuff they raise and livin' in the houses they build - I'll be there, too.****
What snack should we place on your grave?
we're all goin' to die someday,
muddy
***I lifted and revised this from John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. I enjoyed reworking it, but it needs more thought and revision. I'll revisit it later. I like the idea of writing a mantra or code of beliefs.
I'm trying to have more fun and take chances with my writing. I also want to be more prolific. I'm bound to stumble, but I'm enjoying myself.
However, Freud might throw around terms like Oedipal when describing my love of strong women, but we won't go there because that just would be disturbing.
She swaggered into Lawrence armed with a wink and a bag of tricks.
She strapped on her gloves.
She effortlessly performed a series of one-armed pull ups. She crushed an apple with her bicep.
She lifted two bags of potatoes with her tongue.
She rolled up a skillet with her lovely bare hands.
She broke chopsticks with her butt.
I left wowed and slightly in love. This whimsical guy will be seeking therapy.
