Forever Young
May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.
Bob Dylan's Lyrics
We had made plans several months ago to make the trip to Arlington National Cemetery to visit my parents Ruth and Charlie. Ruth had joined my father, Charlie, in the Arlington Columbarium after her death in March. Each niche in the Columbarium has space for only two urns and a marble plaque covers the front of the niche. I have described it as a wall of plaques, each one covering a drawer where the urns are housed. It looks like a wall of squares with names and dates etched on each square. These walls of niches surround a courtyard with a fountain and there are several courtyards. Read more if you like:
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.org/visitor_information/columbarium.html
We leave for our trip on Monday, August 16, in my Ford Focus named Sawyer, knowing it will be hot, but not knowing how our trip will be six hours (Google says 4 hours 52 minutes) due to all the Monday morning vacationers, construction, unexplained traffic slowdowns and those folks who still do not have EZ Pass. We stop several times, Juliet (our GPS, yapping all the way, asking us to stop for coffee, "saying see you on the other side" and offering up an infinite number of ways to enter the Wash.D.C. area) We are staying in the Arlington Hyatt and we know it well as we have stayed here on every trip to VA for nearly 20 years. Looking forward to the newly renovated rooms, lounge, restaurant.
When we do land, it is 4PM, steaming hot rush hour traffic, impatient pedestrians. Paul informs me he will not be leaving the air-conditioned hotel until our trip to Arlington National Cemetery the next day. I am fine with that. The bar is cool and friendly, the room restfully decorated with a soothing harmonious palette, reminiscent of an HGTV makeover. Dinner at the City House Hyatt restaurant has some Top Chef touches and works for us; sleep for me does not come easy, but I can look out towards Georgetown as Paul snores and watch the lights over the Potomac.
Morning does happen, we set out. The Metro is a delight, the challenge is buying the ticket.
Each destination has its own price and there are hundreds of stops with varying prices; we of course overestimate our fare and get beat for a few bucks. No big deal in the greater scheme of things but if everyone adds a dollar I know why this train system is looking so spiffy, maybe NYC should take a look at it. 
We take the one stop to Arlington and emerge from the underground
with the group of sightseers. I doubt many are visiting relatives. We walk the usual peaceful road through the hundreds of white crosses, 
and make the turn at York Avenue, the road to the Columbarium. I have always liked that it was York. As we are nearing the Columbarium, a black butterfly lands at my feet; I know it is a sign from Ruth-there are no other butterflies around and this one came to me. In her recently published book- Messages, http://abcnews.go.com/2020/excerpt-messages-bonnie-mceneaney/story?id=10889376 Bonnie Mceneaney mentions appearances of butterflies, doves, birds at funerals and at cemeteries and at memorials. So having just finished Bonnie's book, I was not surprised to be visited by a black butterfly. Psychics suggest butterflies and birds carry messages from the other side. We continue up the slight hill and enter the Columbarium, knowing exactly where we are going, hearing only sounds of birds and gently plopping water in the fountains in each courtyard. Next pic, Ruth and Charlie's courtyard 
I want so much to see Ruth's name, to have it done. it meant so much to her to have Charlie here in this incredibly sacred cemetery with all its remarkable history. Since we have last been here Teddy Kennedy has joined his brothers, the anniversary of his death is August 25 and we plan to walk by him after this. We find the niche. Just the week before I had received a card announcing that the marble covering with Ruth's info had been put in place. I mentioned to Paul at the time "Imagine, I thought it had been done, long ago, I mean she died March 24th! So glad it was completed in time for our visit." I see her name there and comment "Figures, my father gets his full name, she gets wife, Ruth." And I take a cell pic and then keep looking. Paul is acting a little odd, I think. Not sure why. I take out my camera-I have to record it, that is what I do. A few more minutes go by, Paul says "Don't you see?" And then I do. My mother's year of birth is shown as 1913, not 1923. Oh No! How could this have happened!
A huge mistake, ten years. Suddenly I don't want to stay. This is not right. A very kind landscaper listens to our problem and expresses appropriate horror and suggests we go to the Administration building, which we do after soaking up all his sympathy. As we walk down the hill, the black butterfly appears in the same spot and lands at my feet. So that was it. Sorry Mom. I get the message, I am on it.We go to the Administration building, there is a form, much photocopied, guess there are lots of mistakes. Many apologies. I am humble and appreciative, knowing that the correction is not in my power; being gracious almost obsequious is the way to go here. Ruth's birth date is 1/1/23. Guess the first two 1's got the inscriber into a rhythm and he carved a third 1 instead of a 2.
We visit the Kennedy brothers, and marvel at the simplicity of the crosses marking their graves, echoing all the other less famous. Teddy's grave next pic
We return to the Hyatt, go to the lounge and spend a pleasant hour with a newly met companion, having great discussions on many topics, and find we agree on most, so nice to have a safe smooth time. Of course I started with the story of Ruth's incorrect year of birth. This comforting time of connection mutes the disappointment of the day.
The mistake will be fixed, this is Arlington National Cemetery after all! A national landmark, they will be on top of this.
It seems though that our discovery has led to an mammoth investigation of wrongdoing.
This week, on Tuesday, August 24, an article appears in Newsday about all the wrong dates and blank inscriptions at graves and also about the mismanagement of huge amounts of money with no one overseeing its disbursement properly, hinting at a scandal of huge proportions and suggesting the VA take over the management of Arlington. No wonder there is a form and it is much photocopied. Ruth might be older for longer see Veterans groups seek VA to run Arlington Cemetery or this link if that is not successful
http://www.newsday.com/news/nation/veterans-groups-seek-va-to-run-arlington-cemetery-1.2232334
And a black butterfly who had a message started it all. It may not be fixed for a long time. Things are a mess at our national landmark. Shame.
The trip home starts out in a monsoon, then mutates into a sun shower, then fog, then sun through Staten Island to the Belt Parkway, The leaving Brooklyn Fuggedaboutit sign is so right as this stretch is interminable.
We enter our driveway, park, and I go right to Ruth's Rose garden. I had left it on its own, hoping it would survive the two hot days without watering. It was a tangled flourishing mass of flowers and wild strawberries. And there was a Monarch butterfly resting on the ground on top of one of the patio mosaic stones. It left when I approached. First one this summer.
Late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning I looked out the second floor window to see my solar lights, a butterfly and dragonfly, morphing from red to green to blue and back. They are in Ruth's garden and flicker on when darkness comes: earlier and earlier as the summer days grow shorter. I pulled down the blinds for the night. All was peaceful and calm in Ruth's garden.
Thursday morning, I hear Liam barking and pawing at the window upstairs.
I look out and something has occurred in Ruth's Rose Garden, The heavy cherub statue is overturned and on top of it is the sign, Ruth's Rose Garden face down. There had been no storm, no wind. I go outside with Liam. No animal tracks, but also no hole where the sign had been. The sign had been securely fitted into a slim deep hole, buttressed by bricks and supported in front with the angel statue. Liam helps search for clues. Fallen statue and back of sign in next pic to the left of the pot at the right. 
A dear friend commented Ruth is really angry about her incorrect date of birth at Arlington.
We put it all back
as it was 
And the next night I check on my solar lights. Only one is lit. The butterfly. If it is sunny, both come on. If not sunny (seldom this summer) neither lights up.
They work as a team. Not just one. I waited as sometimes one lags behind the other; no, only the butterfly chose to come out Thursday night.
Butterflies. Arlington, New Hyde Park. Messages? A sign from a sign. Butterfly messages. Spiritual visits. Psychic phenomena?
or
just, stuff happens?
Liam ponders all this
inside and outWoof,
woof.
