Does God really only give us what we can handle? Is God truly a sadistic SOB? Y'know, days like this, I get why people see God as a vindicitive old bugger on a golden throne, hurling plagues and brimstone. B/c *something* sure as heck ran over me in my sleep, and since I don't sleep in the road, I'm guessing it wasn't an actual car. Karma? Punny, har har.
Yeah, no. I know. Three hours of sleep and I'm meant to be perky perky joy joy happy lion.
You ever see a cat happy with only 3 hours of sleep? Me either. Oh, but Hubby slept perfectly well. I'm glad for him, I honestly am, but oh, why why why... Or maybe the question is "why not us" and it's all philo-theo-whatever-cal, but the truth is, I am going to be a turnip today, and that's just how it is. Maybe parsnip. Rutabaga. Some root vegetable other than a potato. Cattail rhizome. I dunno.
Creepy fact: The tomb of famed French science fiction author and "father" of the genre (not really, it sort of evolved, you can argue Mary Shelley invented it with Frankenstein... and so on).... Anyway, the tomb of author Jules Verne shows a figure reaching heavenward from the grave. Waist up. So it looks like the figure broke the crypt capstone and is reaching for the stars. Or, y'know, "brrrrraains" in a zombie-like way.
Some people of course go for snark on their grave markers. My mom, no. Game show great of the US, Merv Griffin, yes. His reads, no joke, "After this message, I will not be right back". Actor Jack Lemmon, noted for comedic roles, had his inscribed simply "Jack Lemmon. In." As in.... well, whatever comes below the "In" in the theater marquee. In that case, the ground. Hollywood director-writer Billy Wilder's tomb reads "I'm a writer but then nobody's perfect". (Echoing a last line in a famed Wilder film starring, in fact, Jack Lemmon: Some Like It Hot. Still freaking hilarious, IMO, particularly b/c the last line of the film follows up a revelation that should, by the standard of its time, resulted in a very different reaction. If you haven't seen, please do.)
Of course, there's an old cowboy "joke" that someone actually had inscribed for his epitaph: I love two things, good horses and pretty women. When I die, tan my old hide and make me into a riding saddle so I can be between the two things I love most. (Yes, I cringed.)
Some people use the headstone to get back at the family, including some that indict wives, kids, both, or siblings, parents, you name it. Technically, that kind of lengthy tale is a "cenotaph". Yes, I know, only I read this stuff. For real, however, people do list things like "My brother was a jerk" on their tombstones, to get the last word. *facepalm*
Of course, famed badman of the Wild West Bob Allison was interred with a respectful epitaph: "He never killed a man who didn't need killing". Umm... how nice?!
One woman erected a tombstone for her son, whom she was convinced died in Guayana in 1978 in the JOnestown Massacre. He'd been missing about a year by then. She died a few years later, in 1983, long after she inscribed DAMN THE STATE DEPT on the aforesaid tombstone.... and a few years before her "dead" son reappeared, alive, and wound up not convicted of check fraud (the original charge he fled in the 1970s) but of attempted murder, in 1993. Whoops. BTW, she was angry not b/c she didn't get her son's body, but b/c the refusal to declare him dead without a body until 7 years elapsed... meant she couldn't get the life insurance money. True story. That's why it's so weird.
One video game addict had a loving family with serious money. His tomb marker looks like a 1980s video game arcade console --- Pacman, to be exact, IIRC. Guess he ran out of quarters?
Poet John Keats (England) has many words on his tombstone (of course) but the notable ones are "Here lies one whose life was writ in water". Ironic, since we still study him in high school English classes around the world to this day. He died in 1821, nearly 200 years ago!
Author Oscar Wilde, who is buried in Paris, having spent his last years in self-imposed exile from the UK after a trial for indecency (he was notable for having a wife and two kids, and a lot of secret boyfriends).... Anyway... His grave was given in 1914 a huge sculpted bird man with, you guessed it, the "junk" hanging about. Protests abounded. A fig leaf was added. (Consider: This is done with pegs/screws. Ouch!) Then someone just castrated the poor sculpture entirely and rendered it without genitalia of any kind, in trying to remove the fig leaf. I think Wilde, whose sense of humor and wit was legendary in his day, could probably see the humor in that.
And on that morbid-weirdness...
Off to face the, uh... what is it called when the sun shines? Right. Day! It's day. Carpe the diem and all that.
PUrring support to all from the sleepless puma!
Hi, all. I am on bedrest till... uh... Sunday or Monday. I had two partially entrapped sciatic nerves with strained hamstrings. Ah, that'd explain why everything waist down felt like flames and demons. Got it. All my ditch-digging plus a last straw (just assume Hubby reallllly feels guilty he left me to do that work)... My scarring inflamed, and my soft tissues twisted, and the stretch I did that...
We are all so glad you are back and want you to know we are here for you.