In recent days I've spent some time looking at topographic maps of nearby state parks to determine if hiking is a thing I'd like to do again. The terrain here is a bit different than in Ohio. Yes, there were hills in Ohio, but I'm surrounded by mountains where I live now and it's a bit intimidating. They're everywhere. And the last hike I attempted had too many cliffs for my liking, so I'm being a little more cautious.
On the map of Blue Knob State Park I saw something marked "HISTORIC: Lost Cox Children Monument." It did seem like a place in the woods where children could get lost with great ease, but lots of people go missing and they don't get a monument. So, how is this any different?
As it turns out there's a story, a legend, and a Wikipedia article associated with this monument.
It was also close enough to where I live, so I had to go check it out.
There is a road that goes past the trail leading to the monument, and it's conveniently called "Monument Road." Inconveniently, however, it is gravel, narrow, and the turn-off is kind of tough to spot from the main, paved road running parallel to it. It's deep woods dark, and fallen trees encroach on what width the road does have. There is some space for parking along Monument Road once you get to the correct trail, and the trail is marked.
This is Ciana Run, it's a tributary of Bob's Creek.
It was split in two sections at this point. Lots of rocks and not much water.
After following the trail into the woods for a little bit there was a sign, and a path leading down to the monument.
People have placed fake flowers in the chain link barrier surrounding the monument. Just inside the fencing a couple small fairy or angel figurines sat on the ground in front of the stone. A small stream passes behind the monument. When I was there I crossed the rocks to get to the other bank and crossed back. It's a quiet, peaceful place.
Past the welcome sign, Lost Turkey Trail goes on and on...
Twenty-six miles in total. I didn't walk that one.
About a week and a half ago I went to Maryland, with the intent of going to DC and wandering around the area a little. In the interest in saving money we booked a hotel with Hotwire in North Bethesda. Well, it was actually in Rockville, MD. Cheap, but pretty nice hotel, and not too far from the metro. Good enough.
We headed into DC on Saturday afternoon, and got back to the hotel that night. As we waited for pizza to be delivered to the room, I flipped through the hotel-provided book, Rockville: Portrait of a city. I was expecting to read about shopping or restaurants, or something along those lines, but this was a book featuring a fair amount of History--being a big nerd, I was pleasantly surprised.
The first random page I looked at had an article mentioning that F. Scott Fitzgerald (author of The Great Gatsby if you've forgotten, or if you never had to read it in high school--also, the most recent movie incarnation of The Great Gatsby will be in theaters on May 10th, so it can be watched as well) was buried in Rockville, MD, of all places.
I read the article in more detail, thinking that his final resting place had to be somewhere more interesting and less suburbia/strip mall extravaganza, but no, he was buried in Rockville.
Interesting. I figured it would be a big fancy cemetery, and I hadn't seen any cemeteries really, well, there was a tiny one across from the Metro station. Right by a busy intersection. After a little searching on the GPS, I realized that the cemetery by the station, and the eternal resting place of both Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald were one and the same.
So, on Sunday morning, we visited the cemetery by Old St. Mary's Church.
Here is the church itself, you should be able to click on any of these pictures so that you can see them better.
The church is right next to a newer and larger church...also St. Mary's, but I don't think they call it New St. Mary's...that would be odd. Anyway, the cemetery is tiny which made finding the grave that much easier. It was also the only grave with a headstone and a ledger stone. People leave coins and candles, and that hat off to the side had a martini-print on the band. Apparently some visitors leave gin...we plan to do that next time.
Here are some other Fitzgeralds...
And we'll round out our visit to Old St. Mary's with pictures of some interesting grave markers. This cross was pretty impressive--and you can see how close the cemetery is to the road...
This stone had the cross broken off of the top, but it's nice to see that someone hasn't run off with it.
This one was beautiful and especially sad because it was marking the grave of an infant.
I think it's even more sad to see these other stones. The mother lost three children (the previously mentioned son aged almost 7 months, a daughter at 5 years old, and another son at 18 years old), while she lived to be almost 100.
This is an interesting video that simulates the experience of auditory hallucinations. When I've had auditory hallucinations it was quite like this, but usually I can't understand what the voices are saying.
A guide for writing autopsies
I so far don't have a use for that link, but I find this quite interesting.
The memorial service I went to was pretty intense because I had tried to put aside my emotions to deal with later, and that was apparently the later. The part that got to me the most was the fact that she had been cremated and her jewelry had not. So, in the pitcher of ashes was a watch that I had always seen on my Nana's wrist. That made it real. The presence of her watch made it undeniable that those ashes were once a body, and not something I could explain away as something else.
Other than that, I've been trying to finish a few projects this week, and had a job interview. During my current job hunt, it struck me that something massive has changed about me as a person and I'm not sure what it is. It's good, but interesting. If the current incarnation of me had met the me from about ten years ago, I wouldn't have liked me.
In my giveaway for the Hop Against Homophobia, wulf was the winner. I will get that sent out Friday or Saturday.
Hi. Thanks for stopping by. I'm J. Lannan and it may not be the best time to host my first giveaway and be involved in a blog hop when my first m/m romance-type story won't be out until later this year-- I also have a job interview this morning, and will be out of town for a memorial service for a couple days-- but this is the time I have so I might as well use it.
Each blog is doing a giveaway of some sort and here is mine. Since I don't have any extra copies of magazines with my poetry and essays in them I am giving away some random LGBT swag. (Note: I'll probably find something else to add before the hop is over and will add that to the list, or just include it as a surprise)
One Pack of Meiji Hello Panda cookies--they're cute, strawberry-flavored and could be considered snacks that pair well with reading-related activities...
One Rainbow Wristband--I notice a 50% increase in flirting when I wear my rainbow wristband so it must be imbued with magical powers of some kind. (Blog owner not responsible if your wrist band does not have magical powers)
Two Badges--One has a hot dog in a raincoat with "always protect your weenie" printed on it, and the other says "Deal With It" in rainbow lettering
That list almost made me sound orderly...almost. So, in order to be entered to win my giveaway leave a comment on this post and include your e-mail address, or twitter info so I can contact you. When I get back in town on the 21st I'll randomly pick someone and send you a message to get your info.
Here are my two comments on homophobia since the blog hop tackles that issue. The first section discusses Iran's death penalty for homosexuality, and the second is a look at bullying and suicide through imagery I pulled from Dante Alighieri's Inferno. Intermission is exactly as it sounds.
Iran Executes Gay Men
I've been told that I have a gift for shining a different kind of light upon dark subjects, but as I write this I realize that I have trouble bringing my kind of light to a situation that is so horrific and extends far beyond the harassment, name-calling and rock-throwing that I've personally been on the receiving end of.
In college I majored in History and studied Iran's judicial system. It's a sad and corrupt system that often forces confessions via torture. I've always found myself drawn to the study of injustice because I have grand schemes about making the world a better place for everyone. I know that's a Miss America World Peace kind of statement, but it's true. One of the only things I kept around from being raised Catholic was the concept of do unto others as your would have done unto yourself, but even that is a pretty common sense concept.
Several years ago Mahmoud Ahmadinejad claimed that there were no gays in Iran. His American audience laughed. While his delusional nature may be amusing sometimes, the treatment of gays in Iran is no laughing matter. It may surprise you, or may not if you know the region, that consensual sex between men is punishable by death in Iran (and in other parts of the world). During my research I even watched an interrogation video in which a man had kidnapped another man to keep as a sex slave. One was obviously a victim (his teeth were bashed out), but when punishment was handed out both men were executed.
The Iranian judiciary just determined that four men will be executed for consensual sexual activities. The Jerusalem Post has that article. In 2005 two gay teenagers were executed for the same crime.
These events are happening in this day and age, and I feel stranded on an island of inability because I can't do anything substantial about it other than pass the information along wherever I am able. So this is the information I give to you.
Intermission
Being a Historian left me with this empty feeling of inability. I've heard stories about Historians being epic alcoholics for this very reason--well, that, and no one listens to Historians and History repeats itself if left forgotten...it's a frustrating field. So, where does an angsty, detail-obsessed person who harbors a compelling case of nascent alcoholism turn? Yes, become a writer. It was so obvious.
I still write essays, but now I write other things as well because I want to explore topics instead of theories. Writing gives me a platform, and if you're going to stand on a platform you better have something that you want to say.
The Grove
As I've mentioned before, I was raised Catholic and you can probably guess where I'm going with this...or not. Where earning a History degree left me frustrated with my lack of ability to change History the conformity of Catholicism I attempted to force upon myself left me with a lack of identity. It took me a long time to figure myself out after being told that everything I did could send me to the hell fire. Catholics are a little more subtle than other denominations, but the hell fire is still there. And it can give you quite a sense of hopelessness to live in a constant state of internal and external scrutiny that is simply incompatible with what you feel is true about yourself and the world. I now bring you to the universal topic of bullying and suicide that plagues so many kids in the LGBT community as well as those kids who are just different. I was twelve when I first attempted suicide. I don't really want to discuss the why, or how, or what right now because they're not part of this story, but this next section is the story.
Due to my long-term intimate relationship with suicidal thoughts, the Catholic belief system, and my Italian heritage I took a morbid solace in Dante Alighieri's Inferno. In the middle ring of the 7th Circle of Hell the people who committed suicide exist as gnarled and bleeding thorn bushes that are terrorized by harpies. The suicidal will never regain their bodies after The Final Judgment, but will have their corpses hung from their thorn bushes. (I told you it was morbid) This is the imagery I always return to when thinking about suicide, but I think of it differently because my relationship with nature is stronger than my relationship with the concept of hell.
I invite you to walk with me through the grove of the suicides. At first I feel peace because there is the notion of a quiet comfort in death. The struggle is over, it's true, but that's it...death is the end. We can just keep walking, though. We're not staying. The trees are all thorns and scabs. It's a sign of obvious pain, and the trees now bleed when injured, but in life the pain is not as obvious as a twisted mass of bleeding thorn branches. The scabs reopen old wounds, and the thorns harm those who get too close. It is a desperate situation. Depression puts up barriers or causes people to lash out, but suicide creates a death with painful memories for those who longed to be closer to the victim. Each memory doesn't simply contain the sadness of loss, but also an added nuance of pain because they could not reach the victim.
To me the harpies represent the reasons and torments that lead people to take their own lives, but as you'll notice the harpies are alive and still active to continue their torment. And even trying to understand this torment assails those left behind. Schools do too little, people don't care enough, and pain goes unrecognized, but after another life is lost everyone looks back and points to incidents and people. What good does it do now? Maybe we can stop them from tormenting anyone else, but I think the most important approach is to teach love and compassion. I think people don't love enough.
I want you to know that if you've wandered through the grove of the suicides you should know that you're not alone even though the path seems empty when you're there.
Wow, that was more of a downer than I expected... and I wanted to end with some love.
Friday-- It was a day of costuming where I forgot to eat lunch until after 4pm. We organized the costumes for The Ash Girl and figured out how screwed we are....or, I mean, how much we have left to do. It's really not too bad, and I'll have a better to-do list posted tomorrow.
I went to a drag show at The Union in Athens that night. It was pretty good and benefited BRAVO--The Buckeye Region Anti-Violence Organization. My friend performed as Jack B. Nimble. Also, it was brought to my attention that this is a fucking hilarious song, but I can't remember the name of the king who performed it.
My favorite performance of the night was probably the Sarah Palin impersonator doing a strip tease and performing the Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon." I may have to get over my strange fear of watching Rent because "Light my Candle" is actually a good song. I don't want to like it because it seems cliche to like it...although I know that I probably will enjoy watching it. Don't try to figure it out. It was the same with Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Also thought about my characters getting into arguments with things that are not living things...this comic is a good representation of that concept.
Saturday-- Drove to Ann Arbor to visit my Nana who is recovering from surgery to remove bone cancer from her jaw. I gave her a copy of David Sedaris' book "Holidays on Ice" because I thought she could use some humor if she felt up to reading while she's stuck in the hospital and the rehabilitation center after that. She couldn't talk then, but was sitting up when I saw her. I talked to my Dad as well, which is odd since we hadn't really talked since November of last year, and then I called him on the day I gave birth to my son--which is when I found out about Nana's cancer, which everyone only found out about the day before that. Very sudden.
On the way back we stopped in Bowling Green so I could check out the campus because I want to apply there for grad school. We found the worst Chinese Buffet...and that is saying a lot. So, strike one against Bowling Green. They also have a Dunkin Donuts which is a place I'm usually fascinated with, but find to be ultimately disappointing. There is a cemetery on campus as well...which I guess would be a bonus since I like them in general.
Sunday-- It's the anniversary of Oscar Wilde's birth today, and the 16th is the original due date for my son who was born September 29th 2011. I wanted to be a nerd and celebrate the birthday this year, but I did name my son Dorian...so, that's probably good enough. Today I felt angsty about another story rejection, was drinking wine at noon and got mostly caught up on laundry. I also made a Swiss cheese and onion quiche, and I plan on baking banana bread, pumpkin bread and a pumpkin pie tonight...while I work on editing and probably dealing with the remaining writing-related angst by submitting more pieces to different publishers.
Dorian Tobias Lannan born on September 29th at 11:06am, 8lbs 20 3/4 inches He's a really chill baby, and likes to sleep a lot. He slept through bloodcurdling screams when we visited a rehearsal for The Ash Girl last week. He also slept through most of the drive to and from Ann Arbor as well.
This is not my poem. In fact I don't know who wrote it, but I found it carved upon a large stone in the Old Colony cemetery in Granville, OH--the one off to the right-hand side when you're heading North on 37. Anyway, I believe that it was on a monument to Horatio G. Mowler who died March 29th 1855.
Our love survives stronger than hope or grief, It has survived, remains, and will remain; Time to our poignant anguish brings relief, And now thy memory is sweet again. And is not this a pledge of life eterne? Nature still clinging to her last desire? Towards our friend the dead our feelings yearn, To meet him and not part our hearts aspire.
