COUNTRY CLAY

Rain is forecasted for Memorial Day Weekend, so I decided to get the Plot Bouquets made up this morning … and ferry them to the Eden Valley Cemetery.

Bob by Eden Valley Cemetery entrance when I was placing bouquets on Grandpa & Grandma Smalley’s Plot; May 25^th, 2009. Now, what’s left of Bob is there, permanently.

Grandpa & Grandma Smalley's Bouquet - L; & Bob's w-solar lamp - R

Dad Hargand's Bouquet - L; & Bob's - R

Snugly packed for safe transport.

Eden Valley Cemetery from Heron Pointe; via Ocean Beach Highway - 53 mins.

Driving the Eden Valley Road, I was crowded to the side of the road by 2 bicyclists on those fat-tired bikes … I was content to follow them at a comfortable distance, but the man seemed nervous about his wife as she wobbled ahead of him, and with a thin-lipped grimace, waved me around them. I knew I should have stayed where I was, but I could see how nervous he was that I was even there, behind them as they wobbled along on those silly looking bikes; so, I drove around them v.e.r.y.s.l.o.w.l.y. and totally mudded my car out going through the wet patch I had been crowded into. I was not happy when I arrived at the cemetery and saw the Highlander. It would need washing when I got back home ☹

I had been listening to the Tracey Byrd CD Bob had burned off a few years ago; maybe that’s why I cried after I slipped Bob’s bouquet arrangement into the wrought iron marker, at out Plot.

Tracey Byrd – ‘Trying Not To Love You’ song:(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quEK8uoJT5c)

I’m not really trying not to love Bob … but I am actively rebuilding a New Life. It’s hard – the intense love I had for Bob is still very much alive. I know my heart will always belong to Bob. It was always his; his physical death does not change how my heart still feels.

But the tears, today, did surprise me. I’ve been able to visit the cemetery for a while now, without tears – I wasn’t expecting them to roll down my face today.

But they showed up: and slowed me up for a few minutes.

I didn’t dilly-dally around getting back home like I normally would do: at $5+ for a gallon of gas, I just drove straight there, and back; I am not a rich widow. Since the obama-biden coup, my dilly-dallying has been sharply curtailed. When I parked the car at home, I got the car washing stuff out of the shed and got busy washing the gunky clay spray off the Highlander.

Mud-splashed car needed washed when I got home.

Front, sides, undercarriage, tire wells ... e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. needed to be sprayed down before washing could begin.

Half of a hatched bird's egg; it matched today's sky color.

A black hawk helicopter flew overhead – and was so low in the sky, its bulk shadowed the car as I hosing off the front end.

Clumps of wet clay was littering the carport pavement. Those would have to be hosed away before the warmth of the sun hardened them in place, making them difficult to remove.

I had just finished washing the car, and was preparing to back it up further into the carport so I could clear up the muddy clay clumps mess, when Coal Creek friends called and invited me over for a chat session followed by Supper. I said I needed to hose the mud clumps off the carport pavement, and I’d be there in about half an hour: I didn’t bother changing my clothes – I just slipped my feet out of my soaked sneakers and into flip-flops: we’re country folks, and knew they’d understand if I showed up ‘as is’ 😉