Death doesn’t fascinate me…but how different cultures treat it does. Whenever I visit a new country, I like to visit a graveyard and a supermarket.
What has always intrigued me about French graves are the plaques. Some are simple with the names of the deceased their dates of birth and death, often with a photo imbedded as on the shot to the right, making me feel like I met them. They can be simple polished stone, metal or ceramic.
Some are fanciful. A farmer’s name might be inscribed next to an etching of a man on a tractor, or a motorcycle enthusiast might have a bas relief of a motorcycle.
Other family members, friends, associates also buy plaques with messages. In one graveyard I learned that the deceased was 19, killed in a car accident and was a local football hero.
This one talks about the book of life, of how we can’t go back or change what it is written.
What has always intrigued me about French graves are the plaques. Some are simple with the names of the deceased their dates of birth and death, often with a photo imbedded as on the shot to the right, making me feel like I met them. They can be simple polished stone, metal or ceramic.
Some are fanciful. A farmer’s name might be inscribed next to an etching of a man on a tractor, or a motorcycle enthusiast might have a bas relief of a motorcycle.
Other family members, friends, associates also buy plaques with messages. In one graveyard I learned that the deceased was 19, killed in a car accident and was a local football hero.
This one talks about the book of life, of how we can’t go back or change what it is written.
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