Visiting the graves,
The old dog
Leads the way.–Issa
“Two things put me in the spirit to give. One is that I have come to think of almost everyone with whom I come into contact as a patient in the emergency room. I see a lot of gaping wounds and dazed expressions…The other, is to think of the writers who have given a book to me, and then to write a book back to them.” – Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird
My afternoon dog walk out West Tenakee Avenue usually takes me to Rie Munoz’s grave. Sometimes I hike longer, down past Joanie’s and through the woods, especially in the summer when there is more daylight. I am a woman of routines and I like walking the same route and turning around at the same place. Yesterday when we chatted with Rie the dogs did a little dance and then rolled.
Rolled on her grave!
And they were muddy and Trixie had already rubbed her neck in otter crap down by the harbor. Don’t ask.
Although, Rie would have enjoyed this story. The wonderful, famous Alaskan artist captured the sometimes absurd, always joyous moments of life in this place. Plus she liked dogs. Her pictures make you smile, and although we only met formally a few times, I feel a kinship. Her paintings make me want to write something for her. Her friend Olaf has a headstone next to Rie’s. We never met, but I say hello to “Ole” too. Teresa walks with me most days and told me that’s what he was called. She also said they made a lot of sauerkraut back in the day with the school kids when she was the teacher because he had a lot of old crocks.
It was so beautiful yesterday at dusk- between two and three-thirty, that I dallied more than usual. I didn’t want this day to end. I don’t want my stay here to end, but the ferry is tomorrow and Christmas is waiting in Haines. I’m looking forward to it. Missing one thing and anticipating another is how we are wired, don’t you think? Otherwise all the mindfulness teachers would be out of a job. I don’t want life to end.
On the way back, we stopped at John’s grave at the edge of the proper Tenakee Cemetery. I never met John either, but I have held the box of his ashes. I am great friends with his widow. They traveled together to Japan to visit the atomic bomb memorials and John was so moved he decided to devote his life to peace, not in the grand Nobel Prize way—in the possible for a schoolteacher from Juneau with a family way. He learned to make paper cranes and gave them away. Thousands of them. He kept origami papers in his wallet and folded them everywhere he went, every day. He left tiny ones with the tip at a cafe. Gave them to the purser on the ferry, the kids on the trail, the nurses at the hospital. John actually created a little peace and passed it on. Imagine that. I mean, just imagine that-
