Holy Cross, part one
Jan. 25th, 2006 02:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aceofkittensWell, it was my life, now it's my loss... Holy Cross...
— "Holy Cross," Old 97's
I work across the street from a big Catholic cemetery, Holy Cross. As someone who grew up in San Francisco, I find the concept of a cemetery right there within the city limits to be somehow odd and unusual. San Francisco kicked out most of its dead people in 1912 and sent them all off to Colma to get buried. Colma also contains some pretty big shopping centers. Colma, land of the dead and of Home Depot.
In any case, I was intrigued by Holy Cross and its proximity to my workplace. It was only a matter of time before I finally crossed the street and started exploring it. My first foray was shortly after the New Year. The entire cemetery was seemingly decked out for the holidays, with flowers, ornaments, tinsel, toys, and other Christmas trappings adorning numerous graves. It was overly festive and somewhat surreal, like walking through Kmart right after Thanksgiving — though the practice of decorating graves is more prevalent than you'd imagine. A large sign cautioned mourners not to put down decorations and poinsettias before December and noting that everything should be removed by mid-January. That first day, I aimlessly wandered up and down the cemetery "streets," all of which have names like "Beloved Disciple," "Our Lady of Refuge," and "Our Lady of Perpetual Mourning." Holy Cross is a flat marker type of cemetery, so it basically looks like a giant golf course. Although there are statues and topiaries throughout and an ornate looking grotto close to the entrance.
I had no idea til I decided to write this entry that Holy Cross is actually a very famous cemetery and that this ornate grotto I've whipped past every day on my way up the first hill is actually filled with dead celebrities. All I knew as I gradually made my walks in Holy Cross a lunchtime ritual is that it is very busy. The Christmas decorations went away, so it looks a lot less colorful, but there's usually enough flowers to make up for the absence of tinsel. Every day, as I walk down the cemetery's winding streets, there's at least one funeral happening. Out of respect, I usually change my route to avoid the mourners, because the last thing anyone wants to see in a time of grief is an obvious office drone with her little keycard on a lanyard, gawking around.
It's not at all quiet — the street noises from beyond the fence are a constant din and there's buzzing from the lawnmowers ridden by Latino-looking cemetery workers in blue shirts and roaring from the backhoes ridden by their cohorts. These last few days, I've noticed something odd. In different locations, sitting as peacefully as a forgotten hat next to neat pyramids of fresh dirt, were several white, plain looking coffins, attended by no one. There are also blue, plain looking coffins in random places. I think that these are "outer coffins," used to lower the real coffin into the grave during the burial process, but I'm not sure. Lately, I've also been saying hello to a giant white heron in the little pond near the entrance. Koi and pond slider turtles also live in the pond. Seeing wildlife is always a bonus.
I do sometimes wonder about all of these thousands of dead people laid out in neat rows underneath the well manicured lawns. Occasionally, I stop and read the markers, but too much of that sort of thing makes me sad. So I mostly just walk around Holy Cross in a contemplative fashion (meaning: I talk on my cell phone), until it's time for me to return across the street and duck back into work mode. When I die, I definitely want to be cremated.
Later tonight: my Holy Cross photo essay, freshly snapped during today's perambulations. Stay tuned!
— "Holy Cross," Old 97's
I work across the street from a big Catholic cemetery, Holy Cross. As someone who grew up in San Francisco, I find the concept of a cemetery right there within the city limits to be somehow odd and unusual. San Francisco kicked out most of its dead people in 1912 and sent them all off to Colma to get buried. Colma also contains some pretty big shopping centers. Colma, land of the dead and of Home Depot.
In any case, I was intrigued by Holy Cross and its proximity to my workplace. It was only a matter of time before I finally crossed the street and started exploring it. My first foray was shortly after the New Year. The entire cemetery was seemingly decked out for the holidays, with flowers, ornaments, tinsel, toys, and other Christmas trappings adorning numerous graves. It was overly festive and somewhat surreal, like walking through Kmart right after Thanksgiving — though the practice of decorating graves is more prevalent than you'd imagine. A large sign cautioned mourners not to put down decorations and poinsettias before December and noting that everything should be removed by mid-January. That first day, I aimlessly wandered up and down the cemetery "streets," all of which have names like "Beloved Disciple," "Our Lady of Refuge," and "Our Lady of Perpetual Mourning." Holy Cross is a flat marker type of cemetery, so it basically looks like a giant golf course. Although there are statues and topiaries throughout and an ornate looking grotto close to the entrance.
I had no idea til I decided to write this entry that Holy Cross is actually a very famous cemetery and that this ornate grotto I've whipped past every day on my way up the first hill is actually filled with dead celebrities. All I knew as I gradually made my walks in Holy Cross a lunchtime ritual is that it is very busy. The Christmas decorations went away, so it looks a lot less colorful, but there's usually enough flowers to make up for the absence of tinsel. Every day, as I walk down the cemetery's winding streets, there's at least one funeral happening. Out of respect, I usually change my route to avoid the mourners, because the last thing anyone wants to see in a time of grief is an obvious office drone with her little keycard on a lanyard, gawking around.
It's not at all quiet — the street noises from beyond the fence are a constant din and there's buzzing from the lawnmowers ridden by Latino-looking cemetery workers in blue shirts and roaring from the backhoes ridden by their cohorts. These last few days, I've noticed something odd. In different locations, sitting as peacefully as a forgotten hat next to neat pyramids of fresh dirt, were several white, plain looking coffins, attended by no one. There are also blue, plain looking coffins in random places. I think that these are "outer coffins," used to lower the real coffin into the grave during the burial process, but I'm not sure. Lately, I've also been saying hello to a giant white heron in the little pond near the entrance. Koi and pond slider turtles also live in the pond. Seeing wildlife is always a bonus.
I do sometimes wonder about all of these thousands of dead people laid out in neat rows underneath the well manicured lawns. Occasionally, I stop and read the markers, but too much of that sort of thing makes me sad. So I mostly just walk around Holy Cross in a contemplative fashion (meaning: I talk on my cell phone), until it's time for me to return across the street and duck back into work mode. When I die, I definitely want to be cremated.
Later tonight: my Holy Cross photo essay, freshly snapped during today's perambulations. Stay tuned!
