When  I was a kid and had sent my Mom on of  her many trips to Crazy Town VIA the crazy train she had this thing she would say.

She would look at me and growl

” don’t make me come over there “

As a rule the only things I was afraid of  as a child were Zombies and all the Monkeys escaping from the Woodlawn Park Zoo’s Primate House.

So not only did I get the evil eye she would  add the threat of

” Just wait until your Dad gets home. “

  blahblahblah

So, I mention this because when people really tick me off, I can see my tiny little Mom standing there with a cigarette clenched  between her teeth and she’s saying

” Don’t make me come over there.”

My little Sister was a cute kid.

She was so cute that when we were little  and went to the Torchlight Parade the Seafair Pirates would always spot her in a the crowd and scare the heck out of her. She’d either take off running down the street or something else really sweet and dramatic and my Grandma  Ginger would tell me to either help her or go and get her.

” Why.” I would say.

I was about six years old at the time, and feeling empathy for living creatures that did not have four legs was not in my nature.

” Because she’s your little sister.”

” How much will you give me if I do.” I’d say as my little three-year old sister was  running around in circles somewhere in the crowd screaming for her life.

My Grandma would look at the Pirates and tell me, ” those guys have nothing on you Anita- nothing.”

They still don’t Grandma Ginger.

When I was a kid we lived in this very interesting neighborhood.

Right next door to us was  ” The Hippie House.”

They were honest to goodness  barefooted, long-haired free love passed out on their front yard hippies.

The Police were always over there- they were either taking someone away or dropping them off. It was very confusing. It took me awhile to figure out that Police Cars were not Taxi Cabs.

I liked them, the girls wore those beaded necklaces and the guys would look up from where they had passed out on their lawn  the night before and say things like ”  

” Stick it to the man” when they saw me headed to school in the mornings.

In case you’re curious- yes, yes I did.

When I was about 10 I was riding my bike home from the playground when my chain broke and somehow I ended up the middle of the road with my bike on top of me.

Cars drove around me, a few honked and one guy got out and said

 “Get your  ass out of the street. What are you, retarded?”

I guess I could have cried, or asked for help.

Instead, I spit on him.

That was one of my finest moments.

Ever.

 a.m.

Kitty  wrote a  post  called The Circus Kitchen and it is about going back and re-reading old blog entries.

 In our convo she mentioned a post I did about a cemetery.

I went back and found it- so here it is Kitty- I’ve written a lot since then and I was glad to revisit this- it’s one of my favorite memories.

a.m.

THE HUMAN REMAINS

One afternoon I didn’t have anything to do so I went to this cemetery and watched a grave digger dig a grave on top of a hill.

This brand of grave digging wasn’t being done horror movie style. This was a guy on a backhoe listening to a Walkman as he worked.

When he was done there was a hole in the ground waiting for somebody who was having a hell of a bad day to be lowered into it.

After he left I watched the tent go up and I saw the chairs being arranged and then the flowers were brought out from a van and these Funeral Directors fussed over each vase and when they were done it did look pretty amazing.

I mean, it takes skill to beautify a hole in the ground.

When the service began there was a little breeze and by the end of the service the wind was howling and the tent was lifted up a few times but it didn’t blow away.

Then after the family left the business of lowering the coffin into the ground was done and the grave was filled in and the grave flowers were carefully placed around the spot where the headstone would go.

When it was finished and just as the gates of the cemetery were shut the cemetery workers- including a couple of the funeral directors came up to the little hill and they started to take the tent down.

They took the canvas and laid it flat on the ground and stood along the edges.

Someone separated from the group and cruised around the top of the hill. I saw that person check the driveway up to the grave site and when they got back I heard someone say ” let’s do it. “

They lifted the canvas up with a snap and at the next big blast of wind they tossed the canvas up and it lifted them a few inches off the ground.

They laughed and did it a few more times and at one point there was a discussion about a higher place in the cemetery where they could get airborne but that was voted down because it was getting dark.

To this day I remember that storm and those people because in this place of somber ritual, a ritual designed to separate us from an unbearable reality so that we can move forward…somewhere in all of that death and decay

the Human Remains.