Essentially the Only One

Bellefontaine Cemetery closes at 5 p.m. each day that it is open. Fortunate it is then that the clocks went forward today in addition to the shortening days as winter creeps in. For that let me enjoy the long shadows and pale light of a fall evening. Add to that a still vibrant palette of autumn colors, and I enjoyed a feast of dappled, glowing light this night after Halloween.

An angel cradling another, found within the Spink family mausoleum at Bellefontaine Cemetery this afternoon.

One of many, such as this Egyptian-themed temple standing adjacent.

I felt a call to revisit this cemetery this weekend. On Tuesday, a friend, Rose, died after a long battle with ovarian cancer. As was her nature, she downplayed her death almost to vanishing point. Perhaps I needed a more demonstrative expression, and these Victorian era tombs are as demonstrative as it gets, short of a real Egyptian pyramid.

Some, such as this gloomy statue sitting over the Francis family plot, seem to revel in the imagery of death.

But such a morose figure is a rarity. Most statues are of angels, sad angels perhaps, but at least a sense of the transcendent about them.

All the tombs are mournful, but those for children seem particularly poignant. Even an extraordinarily ornate tomb such as this one, an aged grave with its writing corroded to illegibility by the industrial St. Louis air. Far too fussy for this more restrained age, with many content simply to leave their ashes and plain marker stone in the ground, it is nonetheless powerful and moving despite hewing to the mawkish.

On top, a small statue of child, in a pose of supplication, has been eroded and discolored and is covered with a coating of mold. Even this stone representation seems to be returning to the elements that made it, centuries after the death that inspired it.

These ornate statues, tombs and mausoleums are not the rule at Bellefontaine. Obviously, only the wealthiest and most important families could afford them. Now they attract attention as historical, artistic and architectural relics. In most cases, the men, women and children they mourn are forgotten by all except a few. In this respect, they are really no different from the humble flat stone markers in the grass.

I spent about an hour at the cemetery. I didn't consciously think about Rose at all, but somehow, when driving home, I felt easier about her passing.

The relentless barrage of economic bad news continues. I try to take the long view, but it is unsettling. No one really knows whether government action will help, although there are plenty who say it will (and plenty who say it won't).

I seems clear to me at this point that the real story is that that for at least the last decade, people all over the world have been living at levels that are not supported by their means. This is social as well as economic imbalance, and will only be worked out on a social level. Meaning a greater or lesser retrenchment for a whole of people. This has already happened in the U.S.:

Last week the Federal Reserve released the results of the latest Survey of Consumer Finances, a triennial report on the assets and liabilities of American households. The bottom line is that there has been basically no wealth creation at all since the turn of the millennium: the net worth of the average American household, adjusted for inflation, is lower now than it was in 2001.

It's going to be hard to face up to these cold, hard, realities for many people but reality has a way of intruding into the most defiantly insulated way of living. Ultimately, we will all be better for it, but it is not easy seeing so many assumptions turned upside down.

Meanwhile, another photo from Bellefontaine. I like the contrast between the dark, fractal, trees and the enormous pillar and needle monuments.

I took this photograph this afternoon on a too-cold winter's day. I'm going to submit it to a local art show, Winter Blues, a juried show that I may or may not get accepted to. I would not have done it were it not for the incessent bugging of my friend Grace (of this glass and others here).

We'll see.

Anyway, regardless of what happens to it, I like it a lot. It's another view of this splendidly Victorian grave

The lengths that well-to-do individuals of the Victorian age would go to to romanticise their deaths always amazes me. I found one particularly extraordinary example this morning in Bellefontaine Cemetery while on an angel hunt with my son.

This green oxide covered figure, with a hand on the ark, gave us both the creeps - not least because of that eerie color.