On this pleasant and not-so-hot July afternoon, I started out on a long walk.  I always walk into the downtown area, and maybe into campus, but today I decided to walk further west — into the neighborhood I’ve lived in for almost a year, but have never seen.  I live in a neighborhood of hippies, as it turns out.  The further I walked down sixth street, the more overgrown gardens, random sculptures, and bohemian accoutrements I spied.

I came upon the Rose Hill Cemetery, which is about a ten minute walk from my apartment.    I’ve driven past it so many times, each time thinking how I wanted to someday walk through it.  Ever since I was little, I was obsessed with death, with places where people died.  I know this appears to be a morbid fascination, but I think it’s more about my interest in history than anything else.  (I remember being nine, going on a tour of Ford’s Theatre in Washington DC, and then the Petersen House thereafter, where Lincoln died, and being so into it — he died there.  Right there.)

And now, for reasons I can’t explain, when I see a cemetery I am immediately drawn to it.  Does it give me perspecitve?  Am I just morbid?  I don’t know.  I feel so weird first stepping onto its grounds, and that first step is always a challenge, something I have to overcome, every time.  Anyhow, the Rose Hill Cemetery is just gorgeous, if a burial ground can be that — high up on a hill with huge, shady trees.  I recognized some graves marking names from around the university, including the Nellie S. Teter, for who my freshman dorm was named!

Also, I was surprised to randomly come across the grave of Hoagie Carmichael (famous for writing songs like Georgia on My Mind, Stardust, and Heart and Soul).

P.S. This post has taken me at least an hour to do, because I have now been distracted by what I’m finding at findagrave.com, namely, people mourning Dolly the Cloned Sheep.