Nobody knows anything about anybody.

So I’ll ignore my 3.5 month absence from this blog, and just jump right into things: J and I recently returned from a trip to Miami. I had never been there before, which is kind of strange since my Dad’s family goes back three generations there. Of course it’s completely different from when my Dad lived there, but here are my first impressions:

1. We were staying in Miami Beach, which reminded me of Vegas in a way. Lots of people with lots of money and ridiculous cars. However, it lacked the self-awareness of Vegas (Vegas seems to understand that it’s tacky and ridiculous…which is part of its charm, if you ask me). So, it was beautiful, with lots of great restaurants and nice hotels, but overall it was…pretty douchy.
2. Miami wouldn’t know a good beer if it bit it on the ass. I understand that no one wants to drink a dark beer when it’s 90 degrees outside, but can’t you do better than Landshark??
3. It was quite cold (for Miami) the first couple of days we were there…but I still think that winter hats and gloves are overkill when it’s 55 degrees outside.
4. I am a pasty, pasty woman. No wonder the Scots-Irish migrated to the WNC mountains instead of Southern Florida.

Naturally, this being my first trip to my Dad’s “homeland,” and me being a huge history geek, I took the opportunity to drag J through historic cemeteries, looking for my great-great grandparents’ graves. (There was also apparently a football game going on in town…but we’re not going to talk about that).

I know from my G-G-Grandparents’ death certificates which cemeteries they were buried in. First off was the Miami City Cemetery, to search for the graves of the Singletons. Unfortunately, the cemetery is actually run by the City, meaning there was no office on site…so, J took one side, I took the other, and we walked it row by row. What did we find?

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

There were so many older gravestones still standing—but for some reason, not the ones I was looking for. I mean, J and I could have missed them. Or maybe my ancestors were just really cheap and picked the economy model. On the bright side, I managed not to step on a fire ant hill, which was my biggest worry.

On to Woodlawn cemetery, where we were greeted by the lovely sight of a modern office. I inquired about my Great-Great-Grandfather Goodwin, and was presented with a map and a section number where he was buried. Again, J and I split up the area and walked the rows. Again, nothing. J returned to the office, asking for more details. He ended up with a plot-by-plot map, complete with plot numbers. We located plot #42…which was a blank space. So here I am, standing on the now-unmarked graves of my great-great-grandparents, looking annoyed (no disrespect intended, Great-Great-Grandma and Grandpa).

Still, I’m keeping everything in perspective: our cemetery wanderings, while probably not the highlight of the trip, were still way, way better than that football game.