upon getting to the monument last night, we learned from the jovial little old guardsman that it happened to be the 153rd anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination. i’m glad we got to visit his memorial to honor him on such a day (through strictly serendipitous happenstance haha). the monument itself is awe-inspiring, and not just because of its size. there is something reverent about it, even amidst the cacophony of voices all around it. Jay said that because of the placing of his feet, he looks like he’s just about ready to get up and get to work, and I loved that. //
“what I am in the eyes of most people - a nonentity, an eccentric... somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. alright, then - even if that were absolutely true, then I should like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart.” //
i do love cemeteries- not just because they are somber and a little eerie (maybe I’ve read too many Brontë novels), but because of the stories that lie forever sleeping there. all we know of the lives once lived are when they began and when they ended, but what about that little dash in between the dates on every gravestone? what triumphs and tragedies, love, loss, lessons, woes, wonders, fortitude, faithlessness, elations and elegies abound within that little, nondescript dash, carved into stone? I am prone to romanticize most things, admittedly, but I can’t resist the wondering that comes from a garden of names and dates. and those little dashes. //
