Skip to main content

GPS: Finding the Dead

No, I'm not running around looking for random dead people anymore.  I don't care if they show up on my doorstep, the answer is "no."

Dead people I know, on the other hand, sure.

I'm in Arizona this week, but before I left Seattle, I went to visit a friend who had passed away.  It's not too hard to find people with Findagrave.com . . . they even have an ap, you know, it case you need to haunt people's graves on the go.  This friend was at Evergreen-Washelli, which is really close to my house.  It's a lovely cemetery, but it's HUGE.  It also is bisected by Highway 99, so you want to make sure you are on the right side of the highway to begin with.

Fortunately, Findagrave gives GPS coordinates.  I looked at the coordinates and was like, "Huh, he appears to be buried in a residential neighborhood."  After everything that happened with Comet Lodge, I wasn't too surprised or alarmed by this.  Instead, I started browsing the Evergreen-Washelli website to see if there was an easier way to find the grave and to check out their rules.

Well no and no again.

So, totally unprepared, I took a hop up Aurora to pick up a posy.

Before I dive into the rest of this story, you should know that Evergreen-Washelli doesn't allow artificial flowers.  Due to dumb luck and a love of all things ephemeral, I had bought real flowers.

I parked my car near the GPS plot point and started walking.  Then I got distracted.

Isn't that pretty, all those stones stretching on forever?

When I looked at the plot point again, I was really far away from it.  So I walked back and stared at someone's yard.  Logically, my friend probably wasn't buried there.  Oh, yeah, logic!  

Evergreen-Washelli is an old cemetery from the days where Catholics didn't like to be buried next to Lutherans.  There are still actual sections for different faiths.  So, logically (if we have to do it like that) my friend should be filed away in the Greek Orthodox section.  

Now we're getting somewhere!  Oooo, what's that domed thingy?


Luckily I stumbled into the Greek Orthodox section.  After wandering around for awhile, I found my friend's tombstone.  I looked up from where I was standing, and I was standing right by my car.  Lesson of the day: follow your gut, not your GPS.

Hope he likes daffodils.


If you missed it, this week's poem is You, In the City.

I'm nearing the end of The Culling, but I've been working hard on something else.  It follows the same characters later in life.  You can expect to see me start posting chapters in about two weeks (!)  In the meantime, our current story is beginning its final arc:
Charlotte’s hand was hovering over her watch when a siren started to sound.  People began to stream down the sidewalks, flooding out into the road.  Some were carrying flags stripped with the colors of all eight states.  Spotting the jeeps and identifying them as military issue, the crowd pressed around them, chanting.  Charlotte’s pulse raced.  Had she really survived the Culling and four of the five war games, only to be killed by a frenzied mob? 

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of  owning a library with a ladder?  I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with.  It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series.  One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella.  The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work.  If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.  

Singing and Drinking

I was at Saint V de P today doing something that I really shouldn't do.  It's not a sin, but it really should be; I was buying books.  I have a bookshelf in my little tiny apartment that is exploding with books and the last thing I need is more books.  Anyway, I'm sitting on the floor trying to decide if I really need my own personal copy of My Utmost for His Highest, when someone turns on a radio playing oldies.  At first I was irritated because it sounded awful with the elevator music that was playing over the intercom, but then the clerk in the back started singing.  "Ooooh girl, come back to me . . ." he was good, he was LOUD, and he was even doing the falsetto parts. I don't know about you, but I'm one of those people who sings in their car.  I have seen other people doing this, so I know that I look stupid.  I usually stop singing at intersections so I can pretend that I'm not being an idiot.  Anyway, the situation in St. V de P reminded m...