No place makes life seem so short like a cemetery. Birth, childhood, first steps, first words, school, first love, family, kids, work, feelings, thoughts, achievements, joys, tragedies – everything that makes up a person’s life becomes just a dash between the two dates. Most of the people will never have anything named after them, will not be a subject of a documentary or even have their own article on Wikipedia; no one will want to dress up like them, sell their costumes or posable figures. At the cemetery we promise not to forget, but to the next generation a person becomes just an image on strangely colored photos, a subject of nostalgic anecdotes and a name on a small gravestone. Their children will wonder about the origins of their foreign-sounding middle names, tracing them on a family tree compiled by an aging relative, trying to capture the memories before they are slowly dissolved in time. The only difference between us and our ancestors is that we leave more proof of our existence – photos, videos, blogs, facebook profiles – these things will probably float around somewhere long after the end date is stamped on our gravestones.

No place makes a person want to live like a cemetery…

An interesting article in 1966 Popular Mechanics describes potential ways of disarming an orbiting H-Bomb. A manned spacecraft would be dispatched to the potential offending satellite and disable it by the most unimaginative of ways – cutting off its antenna.

Obviously nothing like this have ever transpired (as far as we know) but the seriousness of the article makes it a nice read.

Just like this summer, my sunflower patch slowly died down.

Once strong and hopeful plants shriveled up and hunched over, leaning towards the ground overloaded with multitude of empty seeds.

It was time for them to go.


And just like that the garbage lid of life closed in on another summer. Hopes, dreams, plans will start over again next year.

And now we dance:

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You might have noticed more activity than usual on this here blog and it’s not because I am less lazy, but because the time is running out and I have less than a month to say everything I’ve ever wanted to say.

This fine specimen of the religious billboard art is located around Truman Rd. and HWY 71. Notice a Bible Seal of Approval at the top left and a person in the position painfully familiar to anyone who ever used a squat toilet at the bottom right.

In any case, I suggest you repent soon, use up your vacation and deplete your savings accounts.

You have been warned.

This post is dedicated to the International Pickle Week – “A week so good – we made it last 10 days!”