This may all seem familiar to some people or possibly not. I nicked the meme from herehere.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
The fifth sentence reads: This gave way in the nineteenth century to graveyards at the town limits, largely municipally owned and operated.
And the next four go on with: Whether owned by church or municipality, the burial ground was considered a community facility; charges for graves were nominal, and the burial ground was generally not expected to show a profit.
Prevailing sentiment that there was something special and sacred about cemetery land, that it deserved special consideration and should not be subjected to such temporal regulation as taxation, was reflected in court decisions and state laws.
Yes, the book that I’m hurriedly reburying under a detritus of unpaid bills and take away leaflets is The American Way of Death. Oh come on, who doesn’t love a Mitford?
This seems rather fitting for this week as we bury my grandmother at the end of it. That’s a week from now – think outside the coffin and keep up. Half of me feels like dribbling on about the nature of life and the irritation that is death but really who can be bothered? Funerals though, have got to be the weirdest things ever. We’ve got people travelling north, people travelling south, people by air, people by car, and I imagine one or two who shall be astral travelling to see someone, who they couldn’t be arsed seeing in life, buried. And also, of course, to see each other. I wonder if it would be impolite to stand back, clutching a bottle of bubbly, and watch the fireworks. Possibly slightly more insensitive than impolite. Oh well.