Cemetery In Motion

People don’t really “do” cemeteries anymore.

It could be a cultural thing. My local death-garden doesn’t have a fraction of the glamour of, say, Westminster Abbey.

It could be a generational thing. Let’s face it, nowadays Goth is more of a fashion statement than an ideology.

Or it could be that with the zombie overload of recent years, people don’t want to be around that many actual dead bodies. You know, just in case.

When Robert in his Felix the Cat t-shirt and I in my pink “one tough cookie” t-shirt stopped by to visit my grandparents today, we were the only people around except for the platoon of gardeners, who were more nicely dressed than we were and terribly amused by us.

It was a beautiful, sunny, Southern California morning. Just over 70 degrees, cold in the shade, the kind of weather that makes people where you live hate us on principle. We paid our respects and then we wandered a bit. There’s always a lot to see. Every plaque is a story.

But the real story had happened on our way in. The attendant at the front gate handed me a flier that read: “We regret to inform you that recently there have been a significant number of car break-ins in cemeteries throughout the area.”

Hm, maybe that explains why people don’t really “do” cemeteries anymore. We can have our cars broken into anywhere.