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Graveyard shift
Jun. 17th, 2005 10:45 amPicspam! Mainly for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
copperbadge and juniper200, cos Sam said you'd be interested.
I like cemeteries. As a child, whenever I went to visit my grandma in the small East German town where she still lives today, the one day I really enjoyed was cemetery day. On other days, my grandma would drag me about town, guitar case in hand, and I would have to play and sing songs in French to her old friends, who didn't understand French or care much about music anyhow, and she would brag, and I would squirm uncomfortably in my frilly dress (cos jeans were Forbidden). I was 12, 13, 14, 15, and I hated every minute of it.
On cemetery day, however, I would get to wear jeans, and I would get to use the Giant Watering Can, and I would get to trace lovely patterns with the rake in the sand around my great-grandfather's grave, and other graves of people I had never known. Ocasionally, she would send me on my merry way, I would get to sit on a bench somewhere with a book. And that I really, really enjoyed, cos the cemetery was fabulous. The town was grey and uniformly drab ("GDR White", we used to call that colour), but the cemetery was bright, full of flowers, beautiful trees, and peace.
I loved to go there.
Sometimes I would look at the dates on the graves, and try to figure out how old these people were when they died (and now I would like to know who's never done that. Can you honestly say you've never done that?) Sometimes I'd just sit under the great willow and enjoy the moment.
So when we go places, I will stop and visit cemeteries, and sometimes take pictures. The pictures under the cut were taken in Scotland and in Ireland.
( This way for Pictures -- WARNING: they're quite large )
copperbadge and juniper200, cos Sam said you'd be interested. I like cemeteries. As a child, whenever I went to visit my grandma in the small East German town where she still lives today, the one day I really enjoyed was cemetery day. On other days, my grandma would drag me about town, guitar case in hand, and I would have to play and sing songs in French to her old friends, who didn't understand French or care much about music anyhow, and she would brag, and I would squirm uncomfortably in my frilly dress (cos jeans were Forbidden). I was 12, 13, 14, 15, and I hated every minute of it.
On cemetery day, however, I would get to wear jeans, and I would get to use the Giant Watering Can, and I would get to trace lovely patterns with the rake in the sand around my great-grandfather's grave, and other graves of people I had never known. Ocasionally, she would send me on my merry way, I would get to sit on a bench somewhere with a book. And that I really, really enjoyed, cos the cemetery was fabulous. The town was grey and uniformly drab ("GDR White", we used to call that colour), but the cemetery was bright, full of flowers, beautiful trees, and peace.
I loved to go there.
Sometimes I would look at the dates on the graves, and try to figure out how old these people were when they died (and now I would like to know who's never done that. Can you honestly say you've never done that?) Sometimes I'd just sit under the great willow and enjoy the moment.
So when we go places, I will stop and visit cemeteries, and sometimes take pictures. The pictures under the cut were taken in Scotland and in Ireland.
( This way for Pictures -- WARNING: they're quite large )
