I was with a friend the other day when I started talking about cities, travel, and places I love. San Francisco, Washington, D.C., the Appalachians, Boston.
Some of the appeal of two of those places, Boston and Washington, D.C., is about their cemeteries, and the lives of the people who populate them.
OK, so I like cemeteries, not for some macabre reason, but because of the stories, the history, the texture of life that makes us who we are.
Wandering through these places of historic importance, my eyes dart from one headstone to the next, trying to decipher dates and letters, trying to recall if I ever heard of any of these people from history books.
Every once-in-while, I hit pay dirt, and see someone I know.
But, that makes me think, what about the rest of these people who aren’t pay dirt. Who are they? What did they do? What did they look like? How did they live?
Every life has a story. More to follow.