Two mornings in a row I've taken my new bike, Butter, to the cemetery just a few blocks from my house.
There are no dogs to worry about there. I've been a victim to a dog bite while riding my bike when I was a young girl, so I still plan my route around dogs, even that huge, vicious chihuahua on my very own street. (He's apparently very territorial.)
I like that there are no bumpy or gravel roads to contend with.
Another like: The Holdenville cemetery is located on a hillside so it's been fairly cool there in the morning.
Due to that hillside part I mentioned, it's no easy ride. I take it nice and slow on Butter, never getting off but sometimes creeping along at a snail's pace. That's alright. I'm new at this.
It's quiet there.
And I find myself forgetting the pain of these 46-year-old muscles and joints as I imagine the lives of those gone before.
There's a fair amount of pain in life. A wife who has been alone now 30 years. Young marrieds who lost their children.
My mind is constantly working while there. Subtracting years to see how old they were when...
As I drive around and around and around, my eyes seem to go to the same shiny or big or bold markers each time. I force myself to look at those that are smaller, harder to read, never decorated, older. I bet those people would like me to know their stories too.
And names. I love the names. Alice. Fairy. Violet.
Some of their names remind me of people I know and as I ride I think of their lives and how blessed I am to know them. I say silent prayers (although they wouldn't have to be and no one would know, right?).
A cemetery has a way of helping me keep it all in perspective.
I'm feeling blessed today.