Today's Ana-cdote

We were walking the long way through Snug Harbor to the museum. Because the driver totally didn't understand that "next stop please!" means the same thing as ringing the bell when one cannot *reach* the bell. I was right next to the man, for crying out loud. And we're hurrying because my friend Kimberly is at the museum waiting for us, with homemade tacos (and her tacos are to die for) which Angelique had been waxing rhapsodic about ever since she'd realized they were going to be there. ("Ana! Come now or we won't go to the museum!" "Don't wanna go to the museum anyway!" "Do you want tacos?" "OH! COMING! I love those tacos!") I pointed this out, and she told me, very honestly, that "We love Miss Kimberly, and Miss Kimberly loves us."

And we're still walking, and we pass a place where a car has torn up the grass a little....

( In which Connie learns all about the secrets of the whispering grass )

I just realized. I've never seen my father's grave.

I didn't intend to see it, and it didn't just slip my mind or anything, I've just never thought much about it.

In fiction, people are everlastingly visiting their parents' graves to say things or think or leave coded messages or whatnot. I wasn't even sure where my father was buried, I had to run and ask my mom. I knew the state (Daddy was born in Texas and he was buried in Texas, and I do believe this says a lot about him), but not the city.

I am not intending to rush out now on a train to see it. What would I do there? Leave some flowers to die? Better to leave a rock, but I'm not Jewish, and really, what's the point? Either I remember my father and he can know about it, in which case, great, or I remember him and he can't know about it, so it doesn't matter. Or I don't remember him, but I do, so that's not worth working out. I could make a grave rubbing, but modern graves aren't very interesting, generally. Daddy's might be an exception, but it seems a lot of trouble just to find out that.

Oh, I know, people talk to their loved ones, but that doesn't make sense either. My father didn't live in a cemetery, he lived here. He's just dead in a cemetery, but then, he's dead everywhere, so if one can talk to the dead it surely makes sense to do so where they used to be.

I don't even *want* to go visiting graves (except the old, historic sort which are interesting in and of themselves), but now that I've realized I haven't, I get this nagging feeling like I'm somehow out of step with what I should have done. And I can't figure out why people do it anyway, though I'm sure it's one of those things that really doesn't ask for an explanation.