Keeping up Appearances

(even after death . . .)

“You have to go to the back of the cemetery,”

he said from behind me. “The part along the broken fence in the shade. That’s where you’ll find the people.” I turned sharply because I didn’t know anyone was there. I thought I was alone, as usual. What an odd little man he was! With a strange little red cap sort of wrapped around his head and coming to a bit of a soft point at the top, directed forward. But he was already walking away when I turned around, and he kept on going, using a staff to help him with his brisk pace.

(Phrygian cap image found at oll.libertyfund.org)

I knew there was no sense in calling after him, because he wouldn’t have turned around or come back. And I’m not sure I would have wanted him to, anyway. And who was he and how did he know what I was thinking? I made a mental note to stop wearing my thoughts on my sleeves . . .

I guess if it had happened anywhere else,

I might have been a bit concerned. But things are different in a cemetery, you know. You might recall the last conversation I had in a cemetery. In any event, I found myself heading toward the back of the graveyard.

And here’s why: You see, I had an opportunity recently to go to a big city graveyard, and well, they’re different from the old country boneyards I’m used to. The graves I’m used to in my old part of the country are worn and aged, at least 200 years old but often much older. I had never seen such perfect headstones like these before! Large, stately, shiny, perfectly carved. Statues, etched flowers, carved scenes of saints and angels. And oh, how the letters stood out! You could see them from afar . . . McIntyre and Piers and Elias and Murphy . . . They virtually called out to any passerby!

(Photo found on Pinterest)

“Come and see me! Look at me! Look at me! Look where I am! Look what I have!”

Or had . . . But I’m not sure they know that. I was appalled at what appeared to be competition, even in death. Some might say to me that it’s just a way of honoring those who have passed, and sure, I understand that. I mean no disrespect. But the garishness of it all. Really, it was too much.

I found it disconcerting.

That’s when the odd little man with the red cap showed up and told me to go to the back of the graveyard. So I did. The trees were a bit older there and quite bent in strange shapes. The grounds were kept, but not as well. The layout was not symmetrical and balanced like it was in the showy part of the graveyard. The tombstones were smaller and rougher. None of them gleamed. Many had fallen a bit sideways. There weren’t any statues or intricate carvings. Not nearly as many flowers either.

It was altogether much better, I thought, and I gave an audible sigh of relief. I half expected the man with the red cap to laugh at that, but he had long since disappeared. And I wondered . . . Because you see, I was sickened by the gaudiness, the competition even in death by some people. But if you think about it, why should it be any different than it is during life? People are what they are, and death doesn’t change that.

It was a good lesson:

Avoid garish displays. Ignore pompous fools. Don’t get caught up in “one upping” others. Never keep up with the Joneses.

But there’s more. The shaded areas of life—in the back, along the sides, behind the old trees, out in the country, in a dusty forgotten diner—that’s where you’ll find the people. In death and in life, you’ll see the signs that say “mother” and “father” and “soldier” and “beloved friend.” You’ll see a simple home, trailer, tent, bicycle, wagon, long skirts, and overalls. Simple hats and plain faces without makeup. And none of them say, “Look at me!”

Eternity is a long time to hold up a heavy sign with meaningless words.

(Dan Barba, fineartamerica.com)

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If you’d like a glimpse into my past, please check out “The Plain Maine Cookbook.” There’s a lot more in it than just vintage Maine recipes. Get a firsthand look into my past and how I got from there to here . . .

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