The
week before- Sister and I had been to our home town- (both of us now
live in alien lands west of the Mississippi- although both of us still
live in cities along the Mississippi) and performed the annual -have-to
-get-the-flowers-out-to-the-cemetery-before-Memorial Day- ritual. For
as long as I'd been living in the same town as my parents this ritual
was one I had participated in with my Mother. In her prime she would
stalk the garden tent at the local Shopko searching for the 'Memorial
Planter' and once spied she would then stalk the Sunday paper for the
sale flier waiting for the aforementioned planter to go on sale. Usually
for around 10 bucks. The planter usually had a couple of marigolds, a
couple of geraniums (red and pink) some kind of spike looking greenery
reminiscent of palm fronds and some kind of trailing vinca or ivy.
Once
purchased- usually about a week before the deadline- the plants would
be transplanted to the official planter vase- a concrete monstrosity
that weighed about 10 pounds once planted and made to look like it had a
patina of age. Greenish actually in color with some kind of pseudo
Greco-Roman leaf pattern. This would then be allowed to sit so that the
plants could adjust to their new pot and usually on the Saturday before
Memorial Day- planter, large pitcher for water and Mom would then be
driven out to the cemetery to place the pot in the stand , water said
pot , and then both of us would stand around admiring the thing and
wondering if Grandma and Grandpa would have approved of the way the
geraniums looked that year.
This year of course would be different. Mom had passed on in December so it was up to Sister and I to do the ritual ourselves. We had the planter and a hotel room with a fridge stocked with two six packs of beer. What we didn't know until we checked in was that the town was crawling with beer happy Wamo Dart Tournament participants. Which meant that the likely spot behind the hotel to plant said planter and drink beer while doing it was occupoddo by the aforementioned bar sport athletes.
Off to Shopko we go and after wandering around find a pre-planted pot in just the right size to place on the stand in lieu of buying separate plants and messing around with potting soil etc. ON SALE EVEN.....30. bucks. (Mom would have stroked out on the spot.) We also find a small spike vase with a patriotic fake flower arrangement suitable for the Memorial Park where Dad is buried. - an aside here- believe it or not there is a difference between a Cemetery and a Memorial Park. Cemeteries allow above ground monuments- aka- your traditional head-stone. Memorial Parks don't- grave markers are usually bronze or granite and flush to the ground so all you see are the little vases (if any) popping up so as to look pastoral and park-like. And considering that it seems rather pointless to try to find a vase and a plant that is small enough to last as a seasonal living item...Dad's grave is usually marked with just a flag- denoting his Veteran's status or a vase of fake (silk or such not plastic) flowers. Problem solved! - Sister and I think to ourselves all the while hearing Mom in our heads carrying on about how much this shit costs now. We agree that this time it's time for a change regarding the choice of plants in the arrangement for Grandma and Grandpa and go for something with no geraniums, spiky palm frond-looking thing or trailing vine. We instead go for a bit of our confederate background and get one with some nice coleus and trailing mini petunias and some other unknown but flowering items. Portulaca would have been a great choice actually as Grandpa always planted those around the garage- but- that would have involved transplanting and cost just as much in the end. Maybe next year. Have lunch and then drive out to respective cemetery and Memorial Park and place flowers. Stand around look at the stuff, decide it's suitable have a chat with the dearly departed and proceed to have numerous restorative cocktails.
Two graves down - one to go and a week to do it.
On Friday after work I head to the local Shopko where I live and begin looking through the rather anemic and picked over selection of identical floral pots suitable for placement in a cemetery. I find one finally that didn't involve the use of coleus (which Mom didn't care for- but Dad did) in an array of purples- Petunias, some ivy looking stuff and some small white flowering vine stuff. Again on sale- 30 bucks. Keep in mind though to have this same kind of thing put together by a florist would have cost what was spent on all three arrangements at the very least for just one. (it's how I justified the cost to Mom where ever she is). Earlier in the week was the search for the stand for Mom's little spot of eternity- luckily found a garden shop that had just what I was looking for in stock and 27 bucks later it's mine.
It's raining Saturday morning when the phone rings at 930 am. It's my Mom's cousin whom I was going to meet later in the day outside of the small town where the Ancestors are buried. The thought was to have some lunch and then go place the flowers on Mom's plot of earth. Alas the weather channel inferred that it wasn't going to be easy.
The drive down itself was relatively uneventful even with two slowdowns due to accidents. My boyfriend and I arrived at the appointed meeting place in WI on time only to find that the power was out all over town (population of around 300) so no lunch just pie and lukewarm drinks- milk for him and tea for me and a bit of chatting with Mom's cousin. Surprising thing was that the proprietor of the little cafe had no candles! She must not have been Norwegian- a Norwegian would have been prepared. The pie was good though- Carmel -Nut- Apple. Yum.
It begins raining and rumbles of thunder with good bolts of lightning in the sky as we begin our 8 mile trek out of town to the little church yard where Mom's remains will lay for eternity or the second coming which ever comes first. A soggy walk out to the spot with iron plant stand in one hand, umbrella in the other and Boyfriend bringing up the rear with the flowers. I begin to push stand into ground and get about 4 inches when we hit the dry packed earth and find Mom's cousin coming over with a heavy mallet- which is then applied to stand with great success all the while carefully watching the sky waiting for the direct hit of electricity upon my body. Stand is finally set- (it's not going anywhere soon) and plants are placed upon it- comments made by all about how nice they look and it's time to dash back to the car. It's two days before Memorial Day and I have managed with the help of Sister and a cousin to GET-THE-FLOWERS-OUT TO-THE-CEMETERY- BEFORE-MEMORIAL DAY IN A THUNDERSTORM and not get immolated by Mother Nature. Mission accomplished. Thanks Mom I'll love you always. You would have loved it. Hell- you probably were loving it. You always liked thunderstorms. Why should putting flowers out be done only in nice weather?
My feet are soaked through- it's time for a restorative cocktail- and so finally after twenty years of saying next time we are going to the bar in Urne (pronounced Ernie) I do. And I find that the bar in Urne is nothing like my imagination had portrayed it. Some things are just better left to the imagination I suppose.
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| Grandparents (Maternal) |
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| Mom |
