Quincy is an incredible little town, nestled in the heart of the Sierras. It reminds me of the Swiss Alps, because the mountains rise steeply from the quiet little grid of streets that form the downtown area. We were lucky enough to witness a parade, which was basically an excuse for Quincy to display its impressive collection of firetrucks and tow trucks.
My mom and I spent a few hours at the museum. There's an awesome collection of Civil War Era memorabilia, most of which was collected or discovered in the mountains around Quincy. I struck up a conversation with the elderly docent, whose eyes lit up when she told me about a few features of the museum, including the hearse.
"Oh, you have to see it, you simply must. It's my favorite thing here!"
I tend to get uncomfortable when old people talk fondly about funeral contraptions, but I decided to go see what she was so excited about. And wow! She was right! The hearse is amazing! It's incredible! I stood there admiring it for a good twenty minutes, and then the oddest little fantasy took center stage in my mind. I began to picture the day of my own funeral, when I'd be wrapped up in black, covered in flowers, surrounded by crowds of my closest friend's and family, all weeping softly as I rolled gently towards the church...
Wait, I think I have my fantasies mixed up. What day are all little girls supposed to look forward to? I'm drawing a blank here.