I've never told anyone of this...

We cremated my first wife, Jean, and scattered her remains about our home – the property she loved so much. There was a place, though, way back up in the woods - the Devil's Den Nature Preserve it was called... wild, tangled, overgrown and many rock ledges and drop-offs. Jean and I often "nature hiked" up there ... beautiful place indeed. So I thought since scattered "cremains" don't lead to a "place" ever (like traditional graves do) where mourners and loved ones can repair now and then – I would sort of make a little commemorative spot up there in the secret woods.

We were married 26 years, and would you believe, she yet had a garden bed of English Ivy (which she loved!) that had been cultivated from her bride's bouquet so long before. So I took a sprig or two one day and went back up in the woods and planted them before a large rock ledge we used to frequent and picnic at. Way off trail (there was no trail! LOL!). No one would ever see. And those sprigs took, too, and a small bed of English Ivy thus grew alone in the woods at the base of this old rock. (Now conscience, which so many have long since concluded is missing in me – prompts me to say, "Yes!" – I know the problem of introducing foreign and domestic plants into our natural enviornment – as they may propagate and take over, crowd out native plants, etc. etc.) And English Ivy is even identified as such (one often sees it mysteriously running up trees way out in the woods and over the ground). If you know your archaeology and know how to look – you may find 18th or 19th century homestead cellar holes nearby – maybe even some grave mounds... For me, back then, I brushed such concern from my mind: I had other and pressing affairs to see to...

I also ordered from a foundry, a very tiny bronze plaque – maybe only 6 inches long – with "MommyJean" thereon – the name her kids knew her by when very young. I mounted this in an obscure spot on the rock face.

Now we were not a religious family (I am not formally religious – being your basic agnostic you see) and Jean had no particular religion. Her Father had been Italian Catholic – and later, with her Mother (a Quaker!) – they both took up the Universalist approach...

But I was spending much time at my blacksmithing (hobby) these days, and tried to think on something I could make or forge that would be appropriate – and I hit upon trying to duplicate those Medieval (Christian) Crosses one often sees in museums and books – the ones with sort of tri-lobed ends (reflecting the "Trinity" I have no doubt...) and often beset or inset with cabochon gemstones... It was maybe 8 in. long – I have no photo, but sketched a likeness here: Cross

Now for "gems" I used bits of broken (beer) bottles: amber, blue and green. I was just learning to do this at my forge. You feed a little draft to your broken pieces, and when they get red hot they will stick to iron rod – you heat 'em some more - then transfer them to little sort of cup-like depressions you have previously knocked into your hot iron. You "twist" the rod off and Voila! – when he glass cools it forms a little rounded (cabachon) bead – or "gem"! Looks just like oldtime "medieval" ones I have seen in pictures. For the body of the cross, I used a section of old wagon tire rim - really too hard (hardened) for this assignment – but it worked. When I was done I forged a big square-shanked nail and betook myself to the woods.

There in a big old oak tree that grew right up topside of the ledge I sort of boosted myself up maybe ten feet above ground and with small hatchet, cut a cross-shaped notch in the thick bark – just right size to receive my forging. Then I popped it in and nailed it to the trunk. After a few years, the bark was growing back over the opening; I'll bet it has all but disappeared now (nearly 30 years later...). "Heart of Oak" as it were...

I revisited the spot a few times before I left CT. Once, having only just returned from a visit to Russia, for some reason I took a handful of rubles in my pocket with me, and when I got there, I tossed them down a deep crack in the rock.

Archaeologists, if they ever penetrate here, will be hard put to decipher this "shrine!"

I was to forge yet one more of these Medieval Crosses... Andy and Mary had been our first landlords when we got married. None better! Devout Italian Catholics they were; we shared their two-story home right aross the street from St. Morris' Church. Mary was forever "tellilng her beads" to the priests and prelates of that ...institution. Years later, long after our departure, Andy fell off the roof while repairing it - and died on the spot. Now Mary was become an old Italian widow... her only link in life her church across the street. So I forged up an ornate cross again, in the manner I have described - and - since we now lived in another city - called her daughter as to how to get it to her. I've forgotten the details, but it seemed the daughter said to just "leave it on the porch" sometime when you are down this way - and she - the daughter - would see Mary got it. So I did, and hopefully... she did...

Some years later, my new wife, Mildred, and I were on an automobile trip. We were somewhere out in the central farmland of Ohio, I remember – sitting at the window in a large diner out in the country. (We had gone "west" here to tour the many Mound Dweller sites preserved out in that region... ). Suddenly, and without warning, she began to cry. I asked what was wrong... she blurted out, "I have never told you this... but I have a younger retarded brother who is in a state institution back in CT".

"And, and... I never, ever go to see him and he is ... family." Now, Millie was Jewish you see, and Jews (and Poles and Irish and Italians) are very "big into" family. So she had a huge guilt thing coming down here.

So I said, "So what's the big deal? When we get back – we go see him! Consider it done!"

And we did. Millie's father had been a magician of note, but he just had not been able to cope with this retarded son of his, so had consigned him when quite young, to the Institution up there at New Britain – I cannot remember exact name. His name, anyhow, was Jerry, and we went to see him and every time thereafter when we did, he was always carrying a pack of cards around – and Millie said that was something from the days when he was yet at home – he had worshipped his father... Very sad...

But now the ice was broken, we went up to see Jerry every once in a while. He could talk some and follow along – very pleasant little guy and no trouble to anyone. I guess he was maybe in late 40's - early 50's back then...

Then he died.

And the State stepped in and did its "programmed thing" and let Millie know after – and by then they had already cremated Jerry – and wanted her to come pick up the cremains. This precipitated new crisis, since the Rabbi at "her" Temple (she did not "practice" Judaism, and was very little religious, actually) – it was more the "family" Temple of record you see) and anyhow the Rabbi said she could not bury Jerry in the Temple cemetery since he had been "cremated," and this is some prohibition in their faith.

Oy Vey!, a'ready, yet...

And Millie was much upset and carrying on – "What will we do?" and I said – "Consider it done! We are going to bury Jerry in the Jewish cemetery where he belongs – and hang the Rabbi!"

She said, "But you can't do that!"

I said, "I can't? Sez who? Watch my smoke!"

Which was true, you see, because I went out to my forge and fired up, then grabbed a nice piece of barstock and in no time I had forged up the nicest Star of David you ever saw! About 8 in. diameter, I guess...

I left the hammer marks all over it – like the oldtime craftsmen did and polished it some, then I went indoors and said, "Get Jerry's cremains! - and let's go!"

And we drove up to the Temple which is off Long Ridge Road there (Fox something road..? I cannot remember now...). And one bright summer afternoon, we parked in the parking lot and strolled over to the older section of the graveyard – where her father, and I believe her stepmother, (she had lived with us a while), were buried side by side behind a low walled area...

And when no one was looking (Rabbis in particular!) – I just vaulted over the wall with my Star of David, Jerry's cookie tin, and my old Army/archaeology entrenching tool. Millie sort of strolled up after and entered nonchalantly through the regular old iron gate. They bury them close in Jewish burial grounds but I soon had excavated a fair hole down right between her father's concrete topped vault and that of his wife next him. There wasn't much room – but enough. I slipped Jerry in nice as pie, laid the forged Star-of-David on the tin, and refilled the hole and smoothed it all over. Across the path were some older graves – much overgrown with low cedar kind of bushes. ("Cedars of Lebanon" stuff you know...). One grave was nearly covered, and I just looked around then stooped and quickly dug out one of the many small cedars growing over it. I transferred this back over Jerry's final resting place... and all was as it was before.

Now of course, Millie herself rests here these days – in a slightly more distant part of the cemetery: beside her first husband who predeceased her – the Father of her Children, you see – and this is a custom of theirs to be buried this way. She had long before asked if I would object. "So what's to object?", I said. When you are as naive' as I have been since Day One in this World, you learn lots of things – the Hard Way.

But I will have to answer someday, my believing friends (and family members) all say. LOL! Maybe so. Maybe not. But I bet that Rabbi will sure be surprised about what once went down in his Temple burying ground!

Shalom!