I work right next to a sprawling cemetery. It's a very peaceful place, with a few interesting headstones.
Do you think that the engraver made a mistake here? "The name's PARRY, not Perry, you idiot! P-A-R-R-Y!" I mean, once it's done, how can you fix it? I guess you chisel the correct name underneath. Maybe they gave the headstone to the Parrys for free in lieu of this.
I really like this stone. Let the record show that I want something like this if I kick the bucket any time soon. It's beautiful, and when the sun catches certain parts, it really sparkles. This poor woman was only 30 when she died.
I call the area where these headstones are: "Simpson's Row":
I checked for a "John" on this one. No luck.
I bet this one had a "Who's on First?" back story with the engraver:
"So, are you done with the Graves'?"
"I heard you, wise guy. Which graves?"
"What do you mean? There's only one Graves stone."
"I've got a whole lot of gravestones, I tell ya!"
This is an interesting phenomenon:
Either these people are the living dead or someone just forgot to bury them. I doubt anyone born in 1830 is still kicking around.
Enjoy the weather today, everyone. It's supposed to kick ass. At lunchtime, we're going to finish the wiffle ball game we started last summer. I forget the score, but Cub and I were losing bad.