I did a weird thing, or two

Last summer when I was working for the Census Bureau, one of my favorite stops was at an apartment in Hopedale.  The resident was beautiful, inside and out, and invited me in on one of the hottest days of the year.  I gratefully sat on her apartment floor, sucking up her air conditioning and playing with her cat, while trying to force myself to do my job and get out of there.  

The cat repeatedly threw itself against a brushy-looking thing on the floor, and I asked the friendly owner what it was doing.  She explained that the brush used to be part of a toy but that the cat rubbed itself so violently against it that it broke, but the cat still likes to rub on it.  Eventually, the cat (Lily) stopped flopping and settled itself in my lap, making it that much harder to do my job and leave.  I stayed there at least three times longer than it took me to do a good, thorough job, but the woman and the cat were both so hospitable and sweet, unlike the majority of my cases.  

The next day, I searched online for cat toys with that kind of brush.  I found a nice, sturdy one at a store in Iowa, and it just so happened that Mike and I were headed west for a road trip and would be going right by this store.  On our way home from our trip, I was driving and Mike was sleeping when I spotted the sign for this store and pulled off the interstate to go in there and get this cat toy for Lily.  

Fast forward six months.  I'm not sure why it took me so long to deliver this thing, but here it is, still sitting around here.  I think I was putting it off because I thought it would be weird and awkward for the census worker to show up with a cat toy, and because I didn't remember exactly where her apartment was.  I guess I thought it would be somehow less weird, awkward, and uncertain six months later?

So today's the day.  The sun is shining. It seems like a nice day for a drive, so I load up the toy (which is more of a grooming tool and play tunnel)

and head for Hopedale with only a vague idea where she lives, no recollection of her name, no clue what I'm going to do if she's not home, no plan of what I'm going to say, and an unreasonable feeling of nervousness.  I'm rewarded with this view as I get on the interstate:  

I arrive in the thriving metropolis of Hopedale, and only make one wrong turn before I find what I'm 99% sure is her apartment building.  But there are several apartments in a row, and I'm not at all sure which one is hers.  So I park and study each one, looking for clues.  The one that I have a good feeling about also happens to have a cat suncatcher stuck to the window, so that's the one I'm choosing first. 

I knock on the door, holding the big brush tunnel and feeling ridiculous.  No answer.  I move to the next apartment and knock on that door, feeling more ridiculous by the moment. What am I going to say to the stranger who opens this door and sees me holding this monstrosity?  No answer at this door either, but suddenly a window opens at the last apartment, and in it appears a woman wearing nothing but a towel, but I'm pretty sure I recognize that beautiful smile and friendly tone as she says, "Hello?"

I say, "Um, hi" and hope that by some miracle she says, "Hey, aren't you that census worker who sweated on my floor six months ago?" but she shows no sign of recognition, so I'm going to have to speak again.  Timidly, I try this brilliant line: "Do you have a cat?"  She looks confused and says, "Yes, I have a cat....?"  I hold up the brown monstrosity and say, "Does it have a broken toy, kind of like this?"  She says, "Yes...." so I say, "I worked for the Census Bureau last summer and remembered your cat, and so I bought it a new one."  Her eyes (and her smile) widen, and she exclaims, "I'll be right out!"  

Moments later, she's dressed and at the door and ushering me in to see Lily.  I put myself and the thing on the floor in front of Lily and direct all my comments to her.  She sniffs it and rubs it and seems grateful.  I pet her for awhile, and her owner, whose name I still don't remember and stupidly forget to ask, expresses her gratitude and offers to pay me for the brushy thing.  That's how nice she is.  Obviously, I refuse her offer and stand up to go.  She asks me if I do hugs, which I most certainly do, so she squeezed me tight and thanked me again and I left.  She stood in the door waving at me as I drove away.

As long as I'm doing one weird thing, I figure I might as well do two, so I stop at a lovely cemetery on my way out of town.  I'm fascinated with cemeteries and could (and do) spend hours in them. 

So many sad things. 

This headstone is so old and weathered that nobody can even read what it says anymore. 
No record of who lived and died and was buried in this spot.

Sadder still are the ones that have crumbled away to barely a nub.
A person's body is buried under here, and this is all that's left to mark the spot.  

But the saddest ones for me are always the babies.
Their tiny little tombstones, some of them with only "infant" as the name. 
Charlene got her name on hers. She missed her first birthday by a day, maybe only a few hours?
"Budded on earth to bloom in heaven".  I like that, and I ponder it a long time. 
Charlene just had a birthday, and even though she died over 60 years ago,
I notice that someone has put new flowers on her grave.

Then there's this one.  I really like this one.  The woman buried under here died when she was only in her 20s.  I imagine someone sitting on this cold, hard, concrete chair for hours, grieving the loss of this young woman.  I sit on it as I ponder her.  It's surprisingly not as uncomfortable as it looks. 

I would like to stay longer, but the sun is going down and it's getting cold, and I'm not dressed for it.  Maybe I'll come back another time.