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I am...a New Yorker
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[Previous entry: "Deferring a Dream, Again"]

Wednesday, January 1, 2003
Communing With the Majority
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Drinking...
Barefoot's Zin and champagne.

Finding...
Peace.

Listening...
Rain against my window.

Eating...
Prime rib.

Walking...
In the rain at Green-Wood, how appropriate.

Watching...
The Glass House

Appreciating...
Calm, quiet.

Walking...
Along twisting paths and over rolling hills.

Missing...
Fang.

I am...Harolding. Well, not to funerals so much as starting my new year by communing with the Majority, e.g. the dead.

Green-Wood:  gate
Historic main gate of Green-Wood Cemetary.


Green-Wood:  Bud Path
Until I went to Green-Wood the first time, I never realized cemetaries had street signs. Those at Green-Wood have lovely Victorian styling.


Green-Wood:  Strawberry Path


Green-Wood:  three sylvan paths
Three paths -- each more sylvan than the last.


: : :


Green-Wood:  Angel foliage
I especially like the many gothic angels.


Green-Wood: angel skyward
Most of the angels lift one hand toward the sky.


Green-Wood:  Angel profile


Green-Wood: Angel shadows
Believe it or not, this is a color photo with no PhotoShopping.


: : :


Green-Wood: Hobbit crypts
These crypts remind me of the way the hobbit homes were built into the hill.


Green-Wood: GWC Patrol
COPS: in the cemetary.


Green-Wood:  gutters
Cobblestone gutters at Green-Wood.


Green-Wood: Hurlbut
I wasn't there long enough to find anyone with my name or birthday, one of the cemetary games Fang taught me. Instead, here was my favorite name of the day. Green-Wood is full of New York notables -- soldiers from every war since the American Revolution, Vanderbilts, "Boss" Tweed and the like.


Green-Wood: our little Eva
A child's grave: "Our Little Eva."


: : :


Green-Wood Father
A father's grave in a family plot.


I first visited Green-Wood four years ago this week. Fang came to New York around New Year's and this was one of the places she wanted to go. I had never been to a cemetary before. "Peaceful, isn't it?" she said.


Three months later, my father died. He was buried in the 4th largest cemetary in the country, spanning many city blocks on both sides of the street. I remember looking out the car window as a little girl and how long it took to pass; it seemed to go on and on. As I walked to the chapel the misty afternoon my dad was buried, I silently thanked Fang for taking me to Green-Wood, so that I was a little less afraid.

[Next entry: "Opening Windows"]
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