Avoid the 19th

Friday I was at work until about 7:30pm organizing the board members' annual appeal letter packets. That was great fun, let me tell you. I didn't really mind except that throughout the day I was developing that "kind-of-scratchy-you-might-wake-up-sick-tomorrow" sore throat feeling. The kind when you're just really thirsty all of the time. That, and I had gotten myself a free ticket to a play but I clearly was not going to make it to theater in time. And I was hungry and tired. So when I did leave work I decided to walk straight home (stopping for a slice of pizza at "Pizza Planet" run by the little old man with an unidentifiable foreign accent).

But I woke up feeling much better today, and Jon and I took a trip to Salem, MA. Ah, infamous Salem. There were a lot of cheesy museums (including the Pirate Museum and Salem Wax Museum), but as our time was limited, Jon and I only went to the Peabody Essex Museum (a reputible, "real" museum), stopping at the old burial ground along the way.

This is where I learned that the 19th of the month is just plain bad. The 19th of July, August, and September in 1692 is when the witches were hanged (or in the case of poor Giles Corey, pressed to death. They simply piled stones on top of him until he was crushed).

Those of you who have never visited an old burial ground might find my next sentence a bit odd: I love old cemeteries. I find them fascinating and extremely good fodder for story-telling, if I ever go back to writing fiction. The Salem burial ground was especially interesting as the stones were clearly grouped in family plots, and many of them were very ornate (for the 1600s and 1700s that is) and quite readable. I actually copied down some of my favorites. Many of the more well-to-do families would include lines of verse (obviously, the bigger and more decorated the stone, the more costly).

My favorite stone was not easy to see, as it was at the facing the base of a large oak tree. But it was well worth the effort, as you will see:

Here lies intered the body of Caleb Pickman (being struck by lightening) June 4th 1737 aged 22.

Below this inscription (the only tomb that specified the means of death, as you can see why!) were the following two lines:

My times are in thy hand
O Remember my Life is Wind

I love that last line: "Remember my life is wind."