Tonight I took the kids to the Cub Scout Pack Meeting, which if you're familiar with Cub Scouts at all, you can foresee what kind of evening I'll describe. Cub Scout meetings are like ADHD conventions put on by adults who think they can insert a 40 minute business portion to whatever high-parent-involvement task the boys are going to do in the last 20 mintues. My suggestion: handle it over email!!! Anyway, I spent the meeting sitting out in the hallway, starting my fourth elf hat after finishing up one at around 12:30 a.m. Frances, Rutledge, and a bunch of younger girl siblings were running in the halls of the church, playing with Littlest Pet Shop toys, and inventorying Frances's purse.
Whenever I forget my camera when we're on a field trip, I get this suspicion that I can't shake from my head that if I can't document it visually, it didn't really happen. Believe me, Hollywood Cemetery happened today! When I arrived, I realized that my digital SLR camera case was empty (camera at home on my dresser) and then when I turned on my pocket-sized camera, it flashed, "Battery Expired." Okay.
It was a freezing cold day--overcast, snowing a little on the way over, and a bit windy. The chill bit right into you. We had plenty of layers and accessories with us, but it was still a wee bit uncomfortable--it made for whiny accompanying siblings. About 30 minutes into it, I was trying to talk to Ollie and I guess my mouth was so frozen that I was having motor execution issues--it hurt to talk and my mouth and lips were refusing to make the correct movements. Hollywood Cemetery is always a pleasure, though. And though I'm sad I didn't have my camera, you can look plenty of other places to see sights that it is so well known for: 2 U.S. Presidents buried there (Monroe and Tyler), one Confederate President, Ellen Glasgow, thousands of Confederate soldiers...there's a fabulous site that covers the sights at http://www.hollywoodcemetery.org/history.html. I appreciated the chance to see it in a season when we're not normally there--winter (or winter-like fall), when the leaves are off the trees, the James River is stark and dark, and the holly trees for which the place is named are so vibrant and stand out amidst the bare branches of the other tremendous trees that have stood there so long. The red berries against the bright green leaves puts me right in the holiday spirit.
Nonetheless, Rutledge was really awful--lots of crying, probably because he was physically uncomfortable. And then there was a boy there who was aggravating him through our entire multi-mile walk; this didn't help matters at all. He kept taking Rutledges magnolia grenades and engaging him in stick play that went nowhere good. Walter was inattentive and kept wandering and kicking at dead leaves and making noise when others were trying to listen. I followed through on my threat that if I had to talk to him again, he couldn't have a donut from Dunkin Donuts afterwards. I felt a little bad, but I had to talk to him, and a promise is a promise....
Tomorrow the boys and Kerry are going on an overnight trip to Norfolk and Virginia Beach with the Cub Scouts. First they're going to Nauticus and then on the U.S.S. Wisconsin and then out to some barracks at Camp Pendleton. In the evening, the plan is to go to the illumination of Norfolk for the holidays, which includes a parade and other activities. I think they're also going to try to see Kerry's grandmother while they're in town. I've spent the evening trying to pack for them, since the high temperature tomorrow is supposed to be 41 degrees, and since they're staying in a government-run facility, who knows if there's going to be heat. Of course, having to rush out the door, slightly late, not able to find all the patches I recently spent a lot of money on at the Boy Scout Store and therefore having my children at yet another event in an incomplete uniform, and despite leaving our bag of food for the Thanksgiving basket at home and then having to load up the little ones and go home for it, and despite not being able to find enough checks to cover all the things I needed to write checks for (rechartering dues, admission to the museums tomorrow, space derby rocket kits), made today a little less serene than it could have been. There was a lot of crying and whining today...from all of us.
Despite it being really, really, really cold and me feeling a bit pulled in ten directions, it still was a memorable and special day. There's just something sobering and even invigorating about spending a few hours walking through a "rural" cemetery with its rolling hills, mature trees, meandering roads, and sweeping views of the river. There are so many stories there, and even with a guide, I feel like I only leave with the merest glimpse of what these people were like, what they did in their lives. A whole life is condensed into two minutes of commentary or one anecdotal story, and yet they were all, as we all are, complex people with complex lives, varied achievements (often what was memorable for them is not necessarily what we remember them for), and subject to being recalled for whatever some possibly distant relative or acquaintance shares. This is so poignant to me right now because Ollie and I are actively researching our genealogy right now and trying to piece together even a snippet of the story of some of these far-distant people, people that I know had 24 hours in each of their days just like I do now, who are now forgotten names that total strangers to each other are asking about on the internet ("Does anyone know anything about Nancy "Agnes" Renwick? I have down two children for her, but I don't know her husband's name.") We can't figure out the relationship between James Renwick, the last Covenanter Martyred for the faith in Scotland, and the Rev. John Renwick who left from Ireland to head for Newberry, South Carolina. We can't even figure out who is related to who, much less what they were thinking, what their personal life was like, their personalities. So much is lost so fast, and today, looking at the graves that told even a slight story in their architecture, statuary, symbols, size, or the words on them, this point was just driven even further home. All those things that we care so much about--our clothes, the state of the economy, our jobs, our achievements in school or in our jobs or our community, the food we eat and what restaurants we have to experience--it all is so ephemeral and most of it will ultimately be forgotten once we are gone. Even with great achievements, when most people see our graves, perhaps by chance because the place where we are buried is picturesque and a pleasure to visit, we'll get a one paragraph blurb in a guide book (or website!) and a two minute overview by a retired tour guide. It's humbling, really.
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