The Monuments

My paternal grandparents have been dead for a long time. They’re buried in a little cemetery in my hometown and Uncle Bob places two cement urns with geraniums next to their headstone on Memorial Day every year. In a sunny spot with no shade, it’s a tough summer, even for geraniums.

Last May, when Aunt Rita visited from Bangor for my father’s “Big 80” birthday party, she tried to give Uncle Bob some money for the flowers on “Mamma’s Grave.”

Well, of course he didn’t take it. Nothing is going to change his routine.

Mamma's GraveWhen I lived away from home, I kept a picture of my grandparents’ headstone in my planner. It was a talisman for me, reminding me of where I came from and where I was going. Now that I’m home, I keep a couple of jugs of water in my Jeep and I stop by and water the geraniums on my way to the post office. It’s nice to “visit” Nana and O’Pa and although it’s not like sitting on the porch with them in the cool of the evening, until I see them again in glory, it will do.

No more talk of cemeteries and funereal geraniums.

Full steam ahead to MOXIE!

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