Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Dancin' in the Ruins

I've been thinking a lot lately about where I want to end up. (Don't worry; nothing wrong and I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon...I actually enjoy considering this stuff, and updating/revising my will, to change who gets what, is one of my fun things to do when I'm bored. And I don't find it morbid in the slightest.)

Cremated, of course. But not stuck in some dreary suburban mausoleum. I'd like to be (mostly) scattered around amongst some of my favorite places. It would be incumbent upon my friends to get me there, natch, and several have already kindly volunteered: a real Magical Mystery Tour. Or Tragical History Tour.


Glastonbury Tor would be nice. Rosslyn Chapel, in Scotland. The Rock of Cashel, Ireland. The rocks at a certain beach in Malibu and the top of a certain hill in Ojai. Jim's grave, of COURSE. And also nearby, so I can protect him.

But perhaps most of me wants to end up in St. Bonaventure Cemetery, Allegany, New York. It's this terrific old cemetery, on the hill behind where my old dorm used to be, with the same gorgeous view of mountains and campus I had from my dorm-room window, and I really think I could get into being there forever. Maybe actually on the site of the old dorm, maybe just scattered on the top of the hill, maybe a little niche for an urn and a plaque with some words; haven't decided, though I suppose I should look into it. There's also a clearing on the side of a mountain overlooking the whole scene, called the Heart, 'cause it's heart-shaped; might be nice to be there too.

If I had an epitaph, though, I think it would be this:

"It doesn't matter if we turn to dust
Turn and turn and turn we must
I guess I'll see us dancin' in the ruins tonight
Dancin' in the ruins
Yes, I'll see us dancin' in the ruins tonight"

Because we would be, you know. Dancing. Us. That night and all nights.

And it seems just about right. So remember, please.


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