I tried something a bit different for me on the Holiday. I grabbed some cleaning supplies from under the sink. Picked up some rags and stopped to pick some wild flowers behind my apartment.

Then I drove over to my local Forrest Lawn Cemetery. I was happily surprised that it was very busy. Too busy for me.

I then headed over to Hollywood Forever by Paramount. It wasn't as crowded. There were some families scattered about the tombs.

I walked around for awhile carrying my things till I found a lonely grave.

I wanted to find one soul that may have been forgotten or maybe the relatives have also passed on, and spend some time cleaning the spot for that person.

I found a real nice white marble tombstone and flat marker that covered the length of the plot. I got down and wiped it up and pulled some overgrown grass away.

I sat the flowers in the space between the headstone and the flat stone cover. It looked real nice.

The tombstone was blank, no words or even a name. Someone unknown. Lost. John Doe. Jane Doe. Forgotten Soldier. I was just going to spend some time with them.

I forgot to take a hat with me and I began to worry about burning my big bald head again. A shadow crossed me. I looked up and it was an elderly lady I've seen before at my local Library. I never have talked with her before but we always smiled at each other while browsing the books.

She said, "Hello." to me and asked what I was up to.

We talked for a while about how the day had been. She has a sister buried there. I find out she once worked as a Continuity Girl for Paramount in the "Olden Days" as she said. Her sister had been a dancer for The Orpheum Theater in Los Angeles before the movies or in Vaudeville... I didn't quite catch what she was saying some of the time. I think she might have suffered from a stroke.

But one thing she said that I did understand was that the grave I'd been taking care of and saying good thoughts over was an empty grave whose owner was probably not yet ready to climb in.

That's why the grave and tombstone had been unmarked.

Sometimes it's the thought that counts.