gordonzola

I probably wouldn’t reminisce about my dead high school friend Rachael so much if her grave wasn’t in a cemetery on the road to the Russian River. I realized that with

dairryiere moving in,

obliviot and

psoup in Pennsylvania, and Niki and Scott somewhere further north, there’s more death than life in Sonoma County for me. At least with my oldest friends. It seems like every time I drive through Sonoma, and as you can see I have less and less reason to, I pass Rachael’s grave or the stupid golf course where Ron’s memorial was held.

I know the body is empty of life and decomposing peacefully into the earth. And I know that I didn’t see her alive for the last years of her life. But it still seems rude to pass by her grave without stopping. I mean, it’s not like she can visit me.

I had forgotten that I would be passing the cemetery until I turned onto it following the weird but good directions I got from yahoo maps. I looked down at the map and sighed. Oh yeah, Graton Road. I tried to think about what I could leave as an offering. I had a cheese button and a Gang of Four button on but I knew Rachael pre-cheese and she never liked the English bands. I had some food but she sailed off to Valhalla years ago. I only had CDs, no tapes that we would have shared. None of the rubber iguanas that I buy in her memory to leave when I pass by.

Luckily I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the reflection of an X promo poster that I had gotten at a garage sale the last weekend along with a book on Chinchilla care. I bought it for someone else, but it seemed like fate. Or at least good enough for the spur of the moment. Rachael and I had shared some quality X moments together, back in the day.

The river was wonderful, by the way. Sun enough to burn me, water cold enough to cool me down, Lagunitas Pils, gin and tonics, Boggle ,

jactitation, and

confabulator. A perfect day away from the city.

(backstory for those interested can be found on my memories page under "obituaries")