Posted in travel


Not much to say here – what can you say, really?

20 years ago last December, on Christmas Day, the nation was forever changed by the violent death of this little girl. She  was America’s Daughter – we all wanted justice for her, had never seen anything like her!  In a time before Toddlers & Tiaras, her eerily overpainted face and overly wise eyes unsettled us all. Who could do this? The American people craved answers.

Was it an intruder? Her parents? Her brother? A fan? We still don’t know, and probably never will. This child’s short lived life is arguably one of the most famous true crime stories in American history.

A body is just that – a body. A shell. Knowing that and feeling that are two different things, however. Death hag and true crime fan that I am, we pitstopped on the way to Atlanta to St. James Episcopal cemetery in Marietta, GA yesterday to pay our respects to the late JonBenét Ramsey. Her name evokes such an image – I think the majority of us have memories attached to her. The only thing I can say is that being there … it felt surreal. I wish I had a better word, but that’s it. It felt bigger than I could understand.

JonBenét rests in a peaceful corner of a quiet cemetery in a town that passes her by without a second glance – it seems almost laughable, considering her un-lived years have been rocked by near-constant controversy and scandal. With her half sister, Beth, and her mother, Patsy, nearby, she is Just Another Little Girl. Gone too soon. You could hardly believe you were standing over the shell of one of the most horrifying moments in the history of our nation, and truly, of time. It seemed almost inappropriately quaint, but maybe that’s the point. I don’t know. None of us do, do we?



Damn, what a week.

There is nothing that I could say about this wonderful man that hasn’t already been said by many wiser and better spoken than I could ever hope to be, but here’s my offering, my hat thrown into the ring:

I thank you, Alan Rickman, for the light you brought us all, for your talent, for your uniqueness, for your voice, and for everything that you did to help bring one of my favorite book series to life. Your enormous legacy will never be forgotten.

My wand is raised for you, my favorite head of house. Always.




It always hits me really hard when a celebrity dies. I know, that seems silly and vapid and ridiculous, but it is true. You would think that at this point, death wouldn’t affect me very much at all – that given the amount of dead people and sad situations that I have been exposed to in my actual life on a daily basis, I would not feel this way – but I always do.

I can’t really say why it gets to me the way that it does. Of course, if I’m a big fan of the deceased (such as when Michael Jackson and Cory Monteith passed), I feel that profound sense of loss and despair that is a natural part of grief … but I tend to feel affected even if I was only a casual fan, or not even a fan at all. Maybe it’s the funeral director in me – because behind every stilled body is someone hurting, and I always think about that – the ones who are left behind. Maybe it has something to do with how loud their deaths are, how visceral. We have the outpouring of emotion and love from fans, the celebrity reactions, the career retrospectives, the dissections of final months, weeks, and days – it’s stunning, both disgusting and beautiful. It’s overwhelming.

Then there’s the selfishness of it. Until yesterday, I had never lived a day of my life that David Bowie wasn’t a part of – and I don’t mean that as a way to say that I have been a rabid Bowie fan since birth. I mean that he’s always been there, a wonderful and comforting piece of furniture in the annals of my pop-culture and music loving mind, a legend before I was even called into existence. And now we as a world have to come together in entering the post-Bowie part of our lives, and that feels weird and scary and sad. We (or at least I) always seem to take for granted that these people we adore and admire won’t go away someday, but they do, and life goes sadly on. Different, somehow. Lacking.

So for now, it is time to say goodbye to another legend, to another brave soul who bared and shared their heart and mind and reinvented themselves time and time again for the sake of creation – who changed the music world so profoundly that nearly half (if not more) of today’s artists owe him a thank you for boldly paving the way.  We will miss you, David Bowie. “Turn and face the strange”