We started off turning left from the driveway... I've been going right lately because there is a vicious bull like dog that is allowed a free run of the street to terrorise every so often. It gave me heart attack last time; I felt like bawling. I nearly strangled Sharpie because I was coming home from the supermarket when he struck, (my dog on lead!) all the bags went flying! So I was basically pulling him up and choking him! Swinging him around by the lead. But that's another story...
So I started off by turning left (warily) and went down a couple of roads to the post box and posted a letter. I so rarely have to post anything anymore, but I want a copy of my old tax records and after an hour on the phone with some girl from the tax department, she said they can give them to me but only by post. WTF? I had to fill out a form and post it. I bet they send me the wrong thing but hey, I tried.
Anyway, I had no rhyme or reason after that. Hours to kill. I've nothing to to today, which is funny really. Rehab have basically abandoned me to my own devices because I'm getting better (read getting!!). So with nothing to do, my wallet in my coat, I posted the letter then walked up to the cemetery.
Before my brain damage, I don't think I would have had the patients to read about Charlotte Who-sa-ma-what who died at sixteen and wonder what she died of.
My daughter is working there so I stop to say hi.
Even before she worked there, I used to walk the stones like a Jane Austin book with the back drop of the Moors.
The first burial was of a man named Hugh Niven in 1839. It's obviously seen quite a bit of action since then; the names coming and going out of fashion.
The various sections of it were overseen by the main churches and each had there own gravediggers!! Many of Geelong's original vanguards who settled in the Western District, are buried there. In fact, the Eastern Cemetery was one of the only places that had consecrated ground, just to ward off the odd vampire!
I am always amazed how big it is; this is a really huge cemetery. And beautiful, in a macabre way. It was today with the wind howling so much that my scarf was flinging about. My hair kept blowing in the my face and I could hardly see. The plastic flowers were blowing about in the wind and the bins had whirled over only to be scattered on the lawns. In the old section, there are people there that were buried back in the 1800's and I wonder if they have any relatives visit them still, probably not.
That makes me sad; which has a domino effect. I wonder if they are watching; or somehow looking at us from some plain and then suddenly, I'm thinking of my Dad. Wondering if he is watching us. I suspect not, because if it were possible to watch and contact from beyond, I'd like to think that Dad would have subtly let me know he was there; if not now, then certainly when I was a halfwit the year before last!
We didn't have my Dad buried in a cemetery. Instead, we decided we would buy a great big olive tree and a pot with his ashes in and have it positioned in my Mum's yard. I expect Mum's ashes will go with him when its time and I'd like a tablespoon of mine to go in there, before they throw me off Urquharts Bluff.
I don't feel like he's there; but I think it would be nice if all of us, had a tablespoon of our ashes in that pot.