They say the best laid plans often go awry. Typically you'd have seen a blog from me beforehand, and I had planned to do a cat and dog blog to start out the month. They'll have to stay in drafts for the time being. I'm just not in much of a funny mood at present. For awhile, my blogging schedule won't be on schedule. Things are going on that I'll leave aside for the moment; it's family related, and it drew me away for a few days. For the moment, I'm just trying to get caught up on blog reading while I have the time. It helps to distract me, and right now, with all that's going on, I need distractions.
I had some time to myself in the last few days, down in southern Ontario, and went into a cemetery there, where my grandparents are buried. It had been several years since I'd visited their grave, and after a good deal of searching, I did find it, spending some time there. Afterwards I started walking through the cemetery, a sizeable one with a lot of history to it. It was a peaceful place.
One tombstone that stuck with me was a sculpture of an angel flanked by two stones bearing the names of the deceased. I liked the craftmanship of it, the serene quality of the sculptor's final product. Another such example was flanked by the Union Jack beside it, and it was a memorial to several soldiers from the First World War, men from the area buried in the battlefields of France.
And then there's the opposite. Near that memorial stood a large, peculiar grave. It was black marble, quite high for a tombstone (let's say seven feet high for the central block). It was flanked by two wings of black marble curling around in a rough U shape, tapering to the ground as the wings got further away from the central block. And it had benches set at either side to gaze down on the grave itself, where the deceased had their name carved a second time, just in case you missed it carved out on the central block.
I stared at that overly elaborate grave... and I shook my head. It was tacky. It was a Pay Attention To Me kind of tombstone. It was the sort of tombstone that would appeal to an arrogant egomaniac, master of the universe (or so they think) sort of person. It was, in short, the kind of place Donald Trump would feel quite comfortable in.
I could be wrong. Maybe the deceased was in fact a decent sort of chap whose survivors happened to get a little carried away with themselves in erecting a monument. Still... I don't think so.
Life's a journey, and it ends for all of us at some point. That doesn't mean you have carte blanche to keep being a self absorbed wanker in death as you did in life.