There is a significant amount of space dedicated to where somebody used to be or is (in some cases) such as in “George Washington Slept Here” and “Here Lies James Brown.”
I always thought this would be one of those things, like the value of a good nap, I would understand better as the years wore on.
I assumed that when I was at the ripe old age of the age I am currently ripened that I would place more importance on where I would be buried when the time comes. Well, not yet.
It’s time now for the real country music lyric of the day…
It may be my family's redneck nature
Rubbin' off, bringin' out unlady-like behavior
It sure ain't Christian to judge a stranger
But I don't like her
She may be an angel who spends all winter
Bringin' the homeless blankets and dinner
A regular Nobel Peace Prize winner
But I really hate her
I'll think of a reason later
Yes, I’m still here. Anyway, I don’t get it. Just take me to the landfill. What do I care?
And this obsession with who WAS here before I arrived to find a plaque commemorating it…I don’t get that either. In our house, if they know where you were, you spilled something.
