The Power of Orange Knickers
Burning Wilhelmine
But to begn with:
The Rosehill Cemetery
In Tomball, Texas (well, actually, Rosehill, a small non-existent "suburb" of Tomball. Suburb being in quotation marks because Tomball isn't big enough to have suburbs to begin with, which should tell you how small Rosehill is.) my family (my mother's side, the Schultz and Schauer families) traditionally is buried in the Rosehill Cemetery. My parents actually own their own plots now. While this may seem morbid (and, Oh, it is), it's comforting, knowing that no matter who you grow up to be, or where you grow up to live, there is always a space in my family cemetery for me to rest...eternally. It was actually not morbid at all, walking through this cemetery, looking at all the people that I'm related to but never met. Still, although they are quite dead, and I've never really met any of them, I still feel like I know them. This is the strength of German blood. Although, maybe someone related to you, through some extravagant tie, is dead, it's still possible to feel an affinity with these people, knowing that, walking in this graveyard, you are among family.