Visit.

Relatively uneventful so far today. After an hour wandering around with my dog and a book at the high school grounds and wasting some time watching television, I've realized that the thing about working that I'd completely forgotten is what to do when you don't have to be surrounded by grills, computer screens and fatty burgers, but what can you do. Wait impatiently to get to Grad School, I guess.

I visited Ed's grave today. Which makes that the third time since he's died that I've done so (the previous two being the day of his funeral and two days later, taking along Jenna to what turned out to be her first visit to a grave). I'm not sure what I expected in going there, but felt like I should. I think what I wanted to check up on more than anything was whether or not they've been able to put down a headstone. They haven't, but I remember it taking the Cemetery Office forever to get the year down for my great-grandmother's headstone. So I'm sure it's in the works. Without it, his grave is marked only by the still-fresh dirt, covered only by the dying flowers from his funeral. Even though that's quickly dying, I'm glad it's there. Still, even without a headstone, I can't believe what a great lot his burial spot is. It's under a shady tree in a somewhat crowded portion of the graveyard and standing next to it you have a reasonably good view of the surrounding hills. I can't imagine it's condition in a few months when the grass has once again grown over and people will walk thoughtlessly over Ed's body, exactly as I already do for those buried around him. In the entire cemetery, I saw only two other lots with freshly dug earth and only one that is in the same condition as Ed's, covered by the potted plants from a funeral. I saw that only as I was leaving and stopped to see whether the headstone was there, only to see that it was one of those stones that's sold to a couple and that the year of death for the recently deceased was covered by a leaf.

Leaving the cemetery, I saw a sign that read "Dogs must be kept on a Leash", which struck me as odd that anyone should want to walk their dog in the cemetery. Maybe it's just me, but I tend to think of a cemetery as one place of many where my dog shouldn't be relieving himself.

Enough with the morbidity, as this is starting to look like an account of Spring Break 2004 in Paris (Jenna and I frequented the famous resting places of Paris, which was kind of odd).

I'm going to go ahead and watch the game. No score yet. Daryle Ward at the bat.