Novodevichy Cemetery

Douglas and I got out to take our first long walk since restrictions were lifted. We walked about three miles to the convent Novodevichy, where there is a famous cemetery. 

This is me with the convent in the background.

It was a perfect day to wander through a cemetery - cool, overcast, occasionally it drizzled. I've always loved roaming cemeteries. I think I got that from my mother, who, to my dad's disgust, always wanted to stop to walk through cemeteries to read the headstones. Aloud. When Douglas and I lived in Falls Church, there was a cemetery abutting the parking lot of our apartment that I frequently strolled through. I got good character names from those old tombstones. 

Here's Douglas standing near one of the sprawling, beautiful trees on the property.

I had to chuckle to myself  at the choice to place this reclining nude over the deceased. As for me, I just want to be cremated and sprinkled into the ocean or over the Grand Canyon. I do, however, like the optimism in this luxurious, lounging lady. 

The body of Boris Yeltsin rests under this Russian flag marker.

Nikita Khruschev lies beneath this interesting structure. Ernst Neizvestny (whose name means not well-known in Russian) was the scuptor. His artwork was not liked by Khruschev. He publicly asked why he "disfigured the faces of Soviet people" and saw his work as "degenerate." It was Mr. Khruschev's family who approached Mr. Neizvestny to sculpt the marker for his grave site. If there are any cracks in it, I suppose they could be blamed on Nikita turning over and over.

If I were to have a plot in a cemetery for my body, I'd want this adorning it. As I approached it, I thought someone had draped a cloth over the stone, but it's sculpted. Delicate and beautiful. I stood for quite a while admiring it.

I'll close with a short, spooky cemetery story for you. A true story. When Douglas and I were living in Falls Church, it was over the winder of 2010, otherwise known as Snowmaggedon. We were stuck in our apartment surrounded by thirty inches of snow. I couldn't stand being inside any longer, so I decided to try and walk through the cemetery. In the center was a small brick structure, where, I assumed, groundskeepers kept their tools and equipment. There were footprints leading to (or from, it was difficult to tell) the door to the building. They led to one of the plots and stopped. I looked around for more prints. None. I looked up in the tree near the plot half expecting to see some kid smiling at me. Empty. Hmm. I stood and tried to reason this sight. All I could come up with was that ghosts leave footprints.