Had a great day visiting the cemetery on what would have been my father's 86th Birthday. My Grandma and Grandpa are buried about forty feet away. I drank Maraska Slivovitz with Carol and we brought Zivko (my Dad) a pack of his favorite cigarettes, Marlboro Reds. We smoked a few for him and poured some plumb brandy on Dad's headstone. The Pizaa Mandala pin I put on his grave last year is still there, it was pressed into a chunk of wax that somebody, maybe Father Michael, probably a large candle left on Zivko's grave. Thursday I drive to North Zulch TX with my cousin to see my uncle and then onto Scottsdale with my mom's Buick. We are flying back. My cousin, Animal (been his nickname since he was a 1%er with a local motorcycle gang and bar bouncers in the late 70s, early 80s), hasn't see Vlado, my uncle, in 12 years. It has been at least 20 years for me.
I feel the slow crawl toward... ticking away the moments... strung together and strung out, stretched, tight like the skin over a drum head. It has been 21 years since Zivko's passing, I have only had the strength to visit his grave for the last 5 years.
Here is me yukking it up at an elaborate grave marker that has fallen into disrepair back during a 2015 visit to Dedo Apostole's (my Great Uncle), the location etched into my memory by childhood trips to Mistko's grave with Baba Evgneija.
Today's was a beautiful October Day. I got lost in the maze of winding cemetery lanes with the DeVille and had to backtrack. I did what amount to a 12 point turn to point myself back into the cemetery.
Animal is sick. We are driving cross country together. It will be OK. It has to be OK. Some foreign politician is pontificating either on the Left or on the Right in a speech to a group of people who agree with his speech. I am typing this now and you are reading it.
So, it was a good day to drink and smoke and sing on my father's grave. Having Carol at my side has made all the difference in my life.
peas and rice