Speaking of Coffins...

I visited the grave of F. Scott Fitzgerald with some friends last weekend.  It's conveniently located in Rockville, Maryland.  We made a pilgrimage on the day that The Great Gatsby was published.  For fear of deceiving you, I should state that I am not an adoring fan of Fitzgerald.  Part of me admires him for his expat life in Paris, but I'm frustrated with him for the same reasons.  However, I must still give him credit as an American author.  I remember when a light bulb turned on while reading The Great Gatsby in high school.  There was symbolism in every page of that novel and white took on a completely new meaning for me.  He did open my mind and I am grateful. 

At the cemetery I think I expected the grave to be fenced off for fear of adoring fans defacing his resting place. 

Maybe something like this?

 (Jim Morrison's grave at Père Lachaise.  Note the fence and the absence of a bust that was stolen decades ago. Lol this picture brings back so many memories. )

But I suppose Fitzgerald's fans are of a quieter unsatisfied passion.  His grave looked like this:

Sitting in front you'll see a book of poems by Keats, dry flowers, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, a rosary ring from Spain and two Easter eggs with candy inside.  Here's a better view:

And now a few more pictures for you.  I've mentioned this before, but I really love candid shots. 

This truck was outside my building the other day.  Can you guess what spring smells like here? Yep, a whole lotta nasty mulch. 

Lastly, and ironically in a post about coffins, I'm hoping and praying for Chad.  Read about The Life of Chad. 

beck