Bday Present Burial Plot

Today I gave myself a birthday present burial plot. I bought a little piece of earth to be buried in. In a blogpost last October, I spoke of Ramsey Creek Preserve in South Carolina, first green burial site in the United States, and of the thinking behind green burial. A few months later, I was later delighted to learn of a green burial site much more accessible to me. Green Hills Cemetery on the edge of Asheville includes a beautiful woods for natural burials.


I turn 67 this week, big deal. I’m healthier and stronger and all around more fit than I was in my 40’s and 50’s for sure, so I likely don’t have any rush on arrangements. I’m running a 5K this month, I hike 5 or 6 miles in the mountains and I do weight training at The Fire Image 7Thing is, it came to me to give myself a really big present this year, and when something flits through me in a repeating thought wave, I listen. It came to me to do it now, to give myself a place to rest my bones; a place of alchemy where I can, presto! turn back into the elements.

Today was the day to do it, a perfect western North Caroline June day. I thought I was doing it so my son wouldn’t have to wonder what I wanted, and wouldn’t have to shell out so much, and so he and others could come to a pretty place for comfort in grief. And it is for him and others, of course, but the experience today certainly feels like a real birthday gift to myself. I have given my body a spot sheltered by an oak and a birch and two kinds of pine. The neighbor plot will hold the bones of my friend, Antiga. Image 1Friends can come here for nurture and reflection. I imagine sacred picnicking and plenty of singing, maybe even dancing, among the trees.

Next birthday, I’ll buy myself a flat granite marker, complete with engraving except for date of death. While the marker awaits me at the foot of my future grave, I’ll go visit and have psychic chats with my future form. About today’s present, I feel tranquil. It’s good to remember that this life is only one chapter in a grand book my greater self is unfolding.

Scent of a Single Iris


The scent of a single iris

renders me a drunken bee.

Indigo edges

scallop each white dream.

Caterpillar tongues

languid lie

on three spread petals.

Between them,

smaller petals cup and touch,

and lift a purple wonder.

On either side of the blossoming queen,

two yet bound in bud

waft promise.

I cannot bow enough!




Mothers Day

photo by Linda Sartori
photo by Linda Sartori

Mothers Day was started  as a protest to the carnage of the Civil War by women who had lost their sons. Here is the original Mother’s Day Proclamation, written in Boston, 1870 by Julia Ward Howe:

“Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have heart, whether our baptism be that of water or tears! Say firmly: ‘We will not have our great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limits of nationality may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient and at the earliest period considered with its objects to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, and the great and general interests of peace.”

         Women all over the world are still losing their children to wars. Let’s take Julia Ward Howe’s eloquent plea to heart. Let’s look at our own lives, and search out where and how each of us can make peace. How will you contribute to a peaceful world?

The Dinner Party by Judy Chicago

Judy Chicago’s The Dinner Party premiered when my son was 9 years old, and now I am here visiting him in New York City for his 44th birthday, finally about to relish the experience of the famous artwork. A long time I stand silent at the entrance, knowing that it will change me. Lights like stars in a black ceiling seem to reflect endlessly from each of the triangular walls of the room before me. The architecture of the room, designed and built specifically to house the permanent installation, gives a sense of great space around the triangular table. The effect is one of outer space and inner space merging. I’m held here at the entrance by this effect, and by something else. As women are unaccustomed to receiving honor, this art that honors women is art to which I am unaccustomed, honor which, in its unfamiliarity, can daze.

Then I move along the three wings of the open triangle, to view the sumptuous place settings that give tribute to thirty-nine individual women, thirteen place settings per wing. The website for The Dinner Party describes the settings thusly:

The “guests of honor” commemorated on the table are designated by means of intricately embroidered runners, each executed in a historically specific manner. Upon these are placed, for each setting, a gold ceramic chalice and utensils, a napkin with an embroidered edge, and a fourteen-inch china-painted plate with a central motif based on butterfly and vulvar forms. Each place setting is rendered in a style appropriate to the individual woman being honored…Chicago specifically chose to use vaginal or “central core” imagery for each of the plates in order to demonstrate that the one thing that united these forgotten historical subjects at the table was that they all had the same genitalia. Her aim was to reclaim and celebrate that mark of women’s “otherness,” replacing connotations of inferiority with those of pride, and to create a “new visual language” with which to express women’s experience.

Though they have not before been included at the table of history, the honored guests seem present in their place settings. Or is it their absence, which Judy Chicago makes so palpable that it becomes presence? Chicago has also invited and transported to The Dinner Party the 999 women whose names are inscribed in gold luster on 2,300 hand-cast porcelain tiles on the triangular Heritage Floor, providing the foundation both structurally and metaphorically for the table. Her monumental celebration of female achievement brings me a harsh and startled recognition of how very much has been missing.

Some names/plates catch my heart more strongly: HATSHEPSUT, ahead of her time in multidimensionality, a Queen, yes, and also a King and a Pharaoh, her plate a stunning raised relief surface symbolizing authority, the shapes and tones of the image on the plate breath-taking; SAPPHO, innovator of lyric poetry, whose academy I can now actually imagine attending, her name on The Dinner Party runner embroidered “in an eruption of color that identifies her poetry as a “burst of female creativity”; The Celtic warrior queen BOADACEIA with swirling golden patterns on both plate and runner; ETHEL SMYTH, the twentieth-century British composer and a champion of women’s rights and female musicians, whose plate is a grand piano with raised lid and  a stand with notations from her famous opera The Boatswain’s Mate.

After one slow journey around the table, I am filled with the sense that Judy Chicago has indeed conjured these women, both human and mythological. And it is the juxtaposition of so many astounding women that radiates The Dinner Party’s power! Many journeys around the table would be required to satisfy the hunger for that power, to savor the quenching of such a long and unrecognized thirst.

When I walk away after viewing The Dinner Party, I am a different woman from the one who stood silent at the entrance. Erasure, that process which women throughout history have known so well, now feels impossible. And because of the transformative power of Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party, what feels possible is a new imagining, an authentic hope for a future of full humanity. As Chicago writes on the six woven entry banners to the installation, one line on each banner:

And She Gathered All before Her
And She made for them A Sign to See
And lo They saw a Vision
From this day forth Like to like in All things
And then all that divided them merged
And then Everywhere was Eden Once again


The experience of personal viewing of the art can be extended by visiting the website for The Dinner Party, , where one can browse each place setting individually and read the fascinating research about each honoree, including the 999 named on the Heritage Floor. Please don’t mistake this for the experience of firsthand viewing of the groundbreaking installation at its permanent home in the Brooklyn Museum of Art.