Come walk with me

Come walk with me among the stones and trees, away from the distractions and we will reflect on what truly matters. . . .

Friday, October 17, 2014

The Gravedigger

Remember that scene from Hamlet, the "comic relief" with the gravediggers talking about who builds the best house?

What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright or the carpenter?
The gallows maker...for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

But then comes the final answer when one gravedigger says to the other that the gravedigger builds the best house because it lasts til Doomsday.

Hamlet and Horatio happen upon the scene.Hamlet takes the skull of Yorick, the court jester, and wonders aloud where all the merriment has gone. He comments that Alexander the Great and Caesar both died, decayed, became dust and, perhaps, plaster in the wall.

What a downer Hamlet is.

Frankly, I like knowing that the dust of Alexander and Caesar covers my walls and keeps winter away. I feel badly when the plaster crumbles forcing me to sweep them up and toss them in the trash. I whisper good-bye to them.

Good-bye, Alexander, with your turquoise chips of paint. Good-bye, Caesar, with pieces of pink and green wall paper stuck to your ribs. . . .  Parting is such sweet sorrow. . . . Bless you. . . . .

There are worse fates than becoming plaster.

Sir Richard Burton as Hamlet


  1. These blogs I know have to be very therapeutic for you, holding all the bad ugly things you have experienced throughout your life... I have been a part of it, cause of it, sharing of it, receipt of it. All those things sisters go through w/ one another. What surprises me most...this sounds more like the stuff I would write!!..Not that my skills are any where near yours, not that..but expressing those deep dark haunting images have seemingly befallen me. You made it all pretty. You take the drab and give it color. You make it into something to be treasured, a keepsake, something unique. You bring back the life in it. And you do it eloquently with your pen. The stories, the treasures of my childhood, of you telling me of all the pretty things you see and feel, and share.You always made me believe magic was possible; fairies, leprechauns, even trolls living beneath the bridge..or the castles in the woods. Your stories always made me believe in good things. So I know that vine might be withered and dead thru the winter, but even in darkest of months, nights, days...You see the roots beneath the ground living, you watch and see the pretty things that exist in all things. You can see the majestic beauty of the morning glory vine, the early morning rays from the dawn, the dew drops on each of the petals..You see the love beyond all the ugly, and give it ...It's pretty back~

  2. That is beautiful....and so are you....thank you for being my have always been and always will be one my richest blessings....