My parents are ravenous genealogists. Our ancestry is primarily English, so when we lived in the suburbs of London between 1983 and 1985, they took advantage of the opportunity by spending many weekends in the libraries there and by roaming cemeteries and cathedrals to look at ancestral graves.

Over a decade later, my mother made a comment -- I forget the context of the conversation -- that she found it "pleasant" to walk around in cemeteries. The comment took me by surprise, because "pleasant" was about the last word I would have thought to apply to a cemetery. I didn't think cemeteries were *unpleasant*, by any means, but they were always places I figured one only goes to see, rather than a place one goes to relax and to attain some peace of mind.

Right away, however, I realized she was right. Cemeteries are great places to walk, especially older cemeteries. What a great place to reflect on how much the world has changed in such a short period of recent history!

The other day, Darleen and I went for a walk in the cemetery we have just down the road a bit. It's divided into two sections, one on either side of the road (a small town back road, one lane in either direction and almost no traffic). One side is a little newer than the other; the people buried there are mostly from the last hundred years. The other side has a few from that time frame but more from the 1800s. I like that side best. How intriguing it is to read the gravestones and speculate on what life must have been like for them. History does not seem so distant in a place like a cemetery. So this person died in the 1920s. People are alive today when he was, and he lived through the Civil War. Simple as that. The Civil War era may seem alien to us, in our fast information age of computers and Internet and other achievements of technology that would have been indistinguishable from magic to anyone in living in the 1860s. Yet we are only one degree of separation from that time.

Here's another stone of a guy that lived just 50 years, in the 1800s. That's a short life, but was it considered short back then? Without modern medicine, maybe so, but look -- there's a woman from back then that lived to be 97 years old. And over there is a newer stone: this guy died in the 1940s. How radically different the world was at the time of his death than at the time of his birth! Over here, there's a memorial for World War I veterans. To you young men who never knew me, whom I never knew, and who weren't even alive when my grandparents were born, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving your lives so that I might live to taste freedom in a better world.

Seeing the types of stones people put up is interesting, too. Some have towering monuments, with family members buried on all four sides. Others have modest, faded headstones that are barely still readable. I like those best. Since I was a kid, I made a game of trying to find the person who had the earliest date of death. The earliest date I found for this particular cemetery was one such stone: small, faded, and weather-beaten. He died in 1812, the year America became engaged in what was later known as the War of 1812. There may have been an older stone. The cemetery turned out to be a lot bigger than it looks from the roadside: there are lots of paved paths through it. Much of it is recessed a bit from the road, so not all parts of it are conspicuous as you drive by. But we'll go back to walk there many times, and indeed we already went back yesterday. The health benefits of walking cannot be underestimated -- not that I particularly pay much attention to my health, but sitting at a computer for too long can make even me NEED to get out -- and this is a great place to do it. Leen and I already went back yesterday and plan to do it again this afternoon.

I talked to Darleen about my own desires for what should be done with me when I die. Basically, whatever's the cheapest way to dispose of me. Cremate me and pour my ashes into the dumpster for all I care. If I were buried in a cemetery, a little tiny stone with my name on it would do; certainly I wouldn't want a towering monument. But I understand why some people have them. Funerals are for the living, not for the dead, and certainly I think the families of the dearly departed should take whatever measures help them cope with the loss in the most comforting manner.

Leen was of the same mind. After this life, we'll be on to a better place and have no time to care for the trifling details of this world. The only thing I'll care about is that my loved ones will be taken care of. I'll regret that there will be a mess of a carcass left behind. My mother and father always taught me I should clean up after myself.

Yesterday we just walked the newer section of the cemetery. This afternoon I'd like to walk the older one again. Maybe I'll be able to find a stone even older than 1812.