It’s important to find your tribe. People who don’t think you’re strange for doing things you like to do… like biking from Blaine to Portland, running the Ragnar, swimming the English Channel, or scrapbooking…
Me? I like to visit cemeteries.
In fact, I have a hard time walking on the bed of a grave for fear of offending the person buried just six feet under. I talk to the dead lying there, excuse myself if I should happen to trespass upon their sacred turf, ask them questions about their lives—if they came up with that epitaph, or some hateful relative… basically I believe the dead are still in the ground with a consciousness about them, waiting for judgement.
It’s just one of my many quirks.
It makes me who I am.
Here’s what I found at Pleasant Ridge Cemetery yesterday…
This is a bench near a young woman’s grave.
Roush’s are a rowdy bunch… this is what makes me think those in the ground are not all that dead.
…and where exactly is Arthur?