With Someone In Mind

Thursday is the rainiest day we've had all year. Some areas flooded, even, and I know of at least one place where an underground water line ruptured, making the flooding problem all that much worse. But my neighborhood is toward the top of a hill, and one advantage of that is we don't flood much.

This particular Thursday is also a very wistful day for me, for reasons not worth going into. Someone very special to me has suggested there might be a kind of delivery to my home today, and I seriously consider sticking around for it. Ultimately, though, I want to be out in the rain, especially in the cemetery, though I have other stops to make. So I prop the front gate inconspicuously ajar and head out.

Piedmont's mood is cheerful and warm, in spite of the cold and wet. One tiny dog is going for a walk wearing a wee little rain poncho, and another tiny dog anxiously checks out every puddle as if it has never seen a puddle before. Umbrellas are everywhere. The smoked meat place on the corner still has their smoker out (determination), with its own patio umbrella strapped on to keep it dry (adorable). 

I spot the umbrellas of two ladies who are walking down the street standing very close to one another. They lean in slightly together, and for a moment it looks like they are cuddling rather than walking. They both have umbrellas, the taller lady holding hers up higher, umbrellas right above each other, green-and-white over black, to make it easier for the ladies to stay close to one another.

I feel happy to see them, and at the same time a little sad to be alone, but also ok with being a little sad. Most days, given a choice, we will choose to be happy. But some days are different, and today is one of those different days for me.

In the exercise studio, three robust looking women jog on the treadmills at the front window, and behind them is what appears to be a lady on an elliptical machine still wearing her rain coat. Like, she never bothered to take it off, and is now exercising with her rain coat still on, is what it looks like. I have to know.

I cross the street and, sure enough, there is an older lady, maybe mid-60's, wearing a powder blue rain jacket over her sweats, hood still up, ellipting away. It seems strange and admirable. One of the ladies on a treadmill up front gives me a knowing smile. Apparently I am not the only person oddly pleased by the rain jacket wearing old lady on the elliptical machine. I smile back, make a mental note that I should exercise more, and walk on.

There is lots to like, here. The yarn store has a small Christmas tree in the window, with little custom knit stocking ornaments on it. The bead store seems more than normally busy, which makes sense. The holidays are a good time for crafty gifts and all. And as I go by Sweet Cheeks Skincare, I cannot help but think boyish thoughts of someone I met recently, because sometimes I am just a boy.

But now, walking up toward the cemetery, there is a funeral procession coming up the street behind me, slow moving and maybe seven or eight cars long. I cannot decide if rainy weather is good for a funeral or not. I wonder where in the cemetery the burial will happen, or if it is a burial at all, and I resolve to keep my eyes open for them. First, though, I must make a detour.

And so I visit the now closed storefront, tucked down an alley and up a flight of old wooden stairs, that used to be Chez Simone. Here was one of the most beautiful meals of my life. Simone was lovely, and aged, and spoke with a thick French accent as she moved about the kitchen and the small handful of tables inside. As we were finishing up the meal, I snuck out to the florist at the mouth of the alley and bought flowers to leave behind for our dear hostess. A couple of moments after we walked out, Simone came bustling out of the cafe with the flowers, thinking we had forgotten them, and we called back with all joy "No, madam. For you! They are for you!" and she cried "AH!" with delight.

The sentiment lingers fondly, if also sadly, as I come up to the cemetery at last. Here are some construction workers clearing out mud, and over here is a lone jogger in a bright green rain jacket, grim and determined looking. The rain is still coming down steadily and the air is almost but not quite a fog. You can see your breath, not so much because it is cold but because it is so incredibly humid that the extra moisture has nowhere to go, like pouring water into an already full glass.

Being in the cemetery in the rain is probably as good an indicator as any of what it is like to have a funeral in the rain. My best guess is this: If that's your mood, as it is mine, and if you can get inside of that feeling, then you'll be alright. I am reminded of one author, who described the trip of Abraham and Isaac up the mountain as "a rather long and gloomy walk." Either you are ready for a gloomy walk, or you are not. Today I am, though I catch myself wondering if the delivery guy has shown up at my place.

Inside the large mausoleum I find a mother kissing a child. Outside, the sphinxes look more stern than usual somehow. An angel who was wearing a Santa cap last week still has her cap, but looks sadder today. Up the hill, I see distant motion and a light, which is probably whatever is left of the funeral, and I adjust the planned path of my walk to make sure I get up there.

If the cemetery as a whole is rendered more subdued and, frankly, more morbid by the grey and the rain, the ducks do not give a crap. The ponds have risen at least three feet since the last time I was here, and as far as the ducks are concerned it is party time. I spot three separate duck couples paddling around together on the freshly risen water. It's like they are checking out the new digs, and liking what they see. I do, too. We have needed this rain very badly.

Walking on, and the first sign that I'm at the funeral site is a flatbed full of gravel, with a heavy steel towline going straight down the hillside. Cresting the rise and looking down, there's a dozer, two of the cemetery's utility carts, and three guys moving some plywood and dirt around. The family is gone. It's all over except the slogging, basically.

I think of C. Doughty and her description of the funeral business. That's what this is, right here, and it is as unpoetic as three guys filling a hole in the ground can be. The funeral itself must have been pretty brief. There's some flower wreaths on the ground beside the hole, and at the side of the road not even down by the grave but here by the garbage can, some candles are still burning. The incense has long since gone out. It doesn't seem "mournful" exactly, as much as just "sad."

I wind my way out of the cemetery, making only one unusual stop at the marker for Kenneth V. De Haven. There are decorations on the markers next to him, but not on his. He is my last stop in the cemetery today. I do not visit him often, and almost never with friends. Do not ask me to take you to see him.

On my way home, I stop at the flower shop that is just down the street. It is very close to where I live, and I make a brief inquiry, but the nice gentleman inside informs me that no, they have no orders of the kind I describe. I thank him and head back out toward home. I have been outside long enough that I am damp all over, and I am ready to be dry and warm again.

Still, a little boyishness remains, even now. As I get close to home I see that across the gutter is a stream of water maybe three inches deep and two feet wide, running to a grate far down the street. I smile quietly and do not step around or over it, but hike up my trousers a little bit as if that will help, jumping in with both feet and making a tremendous and very satisfying BLOOSH. As I walk the remaining two blocks, my feet make the familiar squishing sound of completely and totally soaked shoes and socks.

I do finally get home, and there by the door I see that the delivery has arrived after all. They are red and yellow and green and full and beautiful, and I remember that it is possible to be happy and sad at the same time, because I am both right now. Flowers. So many flowers. I take them inside, get dry, make some tea, and think about things for a long, long time.