Turning my friends into ghosts

Birthdays don’t do much for me. It seems a bit silly to celebrate something I didn’t really have much of a hand in, except for showing up. More than that, I hate the pressure to have a good time. People seem truly disappointed if I don’t jump up and down with joy when they wish me a Happy one. I’ll have a happy day if I FEEL like it, thankyouverymuch. If, however, a biblical flood turns my commute into 3 hours of backed-up sewers, I’ll thank you to leave me to my misery.

Unless, of course, you happen to be a sister bearing vodka and episodes of Supernatural. Then you’re off the hook.

Today was not my birthday, and I had a very Happy day. As a kind of in-lieu-of celebration that turned into a real celebration, I invited a few folks over to my new place in San Francisco. This place:

old, crumbling columbarium niche
This one's not actually mine. I just liked the little hole in it. Ominous.

I am the proud new owner of a 2 foot square piece of prime real estate. And for some absurd reason, I decided that my birthday was the perfect time to acquaint my friends and family with this unique, lovely spot.

reflection of rachael in the glass over an urn
A reflection of Rachael and a stained glass window

I’ve already gone on and on about the Columbarium in SF, so I won’t say much here. I’ll just say how wonderful it was to share it with friends, most of whom thought I was certifiably crazy for wanting to spend my birthday in a House of the Dead. Then they walked in, and they got it. There were gasps. And giggles. And cupcakes, dim sum, and champagne.

mia on the second floor of the SF columbarium
Mia perusing the history of the place.

For a House of the Dead, this spot is ridiculously full of life. We were the only ones there for a good portion of our visit, but even when we ran into other visitors, they didn’t mind our laughter. This is a place full of memories, good and bad.

blurry girl in front of niches
Okay, and maybe a few ghosts.

Right now, my niche is an empty little thing with a reserved sign on it. The ostensible reason for the visit was to put a little something in there; no one leaves their apartment empty for long. I’d been having trouble coming up with the right mix of loved items and metaphors, so I’m a little relieved that I couldn’t get in without an appointment. I’ll have to go back again, darn it.

In the meantime, I left a toothbrush propped in the flower holder outside. Laying claim, before I’m really ready to move in.

rachel in the doorway
Emmett the caretaker says his apartment's right by the exit, so he can take off anytime.

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