Stuck in the heat

Oh man, am I jealous. Sister Rachael is gallivanting about NY and staying in the cutest hotel ever. I have not traveled in so, so long. In fact, I keep doing things that are pretty much the opposite of traveling. Sinking roots deep into the ground. Signing long-term leases. Buying fancy beds. Purchasing a niche.

Oh yes, you heard me right. Spot F16 on the 3rd floor of the SF Columbarium is now mine. I do, in fact, own a tiny bit of San Francisco. Though it’s truly, truly tiny. And I’ll only get to live there when I’m dead.

I feel insane. It’s not like I’m rolling in the money right now. She just called me at precisely the right time. Plans to move to the city had just fallen through, so I had a tidy little security deposit that I was able to roll into a down payment. They only have a handful of spaces left; within a year or two I’m certain that they’ll even run out of room to add-on. It just made sense.

And it really is the place I’d like to spend my hereafter.

I’m a bit of a ghoul. I’ve been around the country, and have probably visited a graveyard, cemetery, or columbarium in each state, and I’ve never found one like this. A culture has developed in this space, a pretty uniquely San Francisco culture, and the personality of each person just oozes… okay, that’s the wrong word to use for a house of the dead.

Whatever. I’m happy to have snagged that spot. I’m not going to have kids. While I’d love to write the Great American Novel, it’s probably not going to happen. My name will not go down in history for having invented Borax, or splitting the atom, or becoming the first lady president of the United States. But you know what? A tiny little hidden niche crammed full of oddities, in the center of the city that I’ve loved to call home? (Oakland’s awesome, but I’m sorry, I was born on the wrong side of the bay.) That’s exactly my type of legacy.

Now comes the truly hard part. What to fill it with before I’m in there? I think I’ll have a good 30 years or more, so I’ll be able to change it periodically. In fact, I may start an annual niche-decorating/ghoulish dinner party tradition.

What would you put in yours?

(speaking of yours, the spots on either side of me are still open… Can’t you just picture the decorating contests we could get into? I’ll put a live goldfish in a wee bowl in mine; you’ll one-up me by filling the entire space with water.)


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