“So hush little baby
Don’t you cry
You know your daddy’s bound to die
But all my trials Lord, will soon be over”
(An American Trilogy – Elvis Presley)
As part of your tour around the Graceland property, you’ll inevitably end up graveside just past the pool. There’s a well-manicured garden surrounding the final resting places of Vernon (father), Gladys (mother), Jessie (brother), and Elvis. This area is a somber, yet perfect way to end the tour. Check out photos below of my family and I passing by.
I also tried to take some photos in a less traditional way, so you’ll see the graves, but also a perspective from a bit farther away, including folks looking at the graves.
Thanks for checking out my Graceland posts. If you want to see more, here’s part 1 and part 2.
-Out of the Wilderness
My dogs eat breakfast anywhere from 4am to 6am. After they eat, I let them outside for a few minutes to “take care of business,” and they usually rush out the door guns blazing. And by guns blazing I mean, honkin’ loud barks and howls as if an army of rabbits and squirrels just infiltrated the perimeter. I wonder what my neighbors think but honestly, I don’t want to know. I’m hoping they have government-issued soundproof windows. I’ve now assigned a new duty to myself, and it’s actually my beagle’s duty. Dootee? Dodee? Doo-doo? Yes, my dogs drop bombs and I pick ‘em up. I didn’t used to worry about it, you know, it’s fertilizer. But ever since Piper (3-yr old beagle) was a puppy, she’s gobbled up poop like a Dyson. Like a tapeworm? Like a contestant on “The Biggest Loser” before they compete? Like Si Robertson at a donut shop? So now I walk the yard, baggy in hand, scanning, scanning, ding-ding-ding!, bogey at 2 O’Clock. Hey, if I don’t scoop ‘em up, Piper will. Asia (1-yr old beagle/blue heeler mix) doesn’t seem concerned with eating the same thing twice. And it’s odd, but in my recent study of the situation, I don’t think Piper strays from her own poop. Geez, she’s eating poop and she still has some sort of criteria?? Makes me wonder what I’m missing, but more importantly, how many times I let her lick my face without asking where that tongue has been.
Out of the Wilderness