The above photo from the Sixties shows my mother dancing a jig on her newly purchased grave. Formerly Wampanaog Indian land, it is now home to many non-natives. My mother died a slow, debilitating death that made a mockery of her zestful life. I love this picture because it reminds me of the woman she was. It's sometimes hard to erase the memories of her final 12 years when she was a decidedly different person. It reminds me of something Cormac McCarthy wrote in All the Pretty Horses: "It was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they are starting out or else they'd have no heart to start at all." I'm not young but, as I intend to be buried there as well, I hope it doesn't become an Indian casino.