I forgot to mention that when I visit cemeteries I study the tombstones. It's a semi-professional interest, because I used to make 'em. For you stoned folks, my wife says that going to a graveyard with my brother (who followed me in the job) and me is interesting as all git out.

Actual conversation, as best I remember it:

"What's that granite over there?"
"Looks like Georgia Pink. What's that one?"
"Rainbow, of course, dummy. Who did the carving?"
"Well, Ralph wouldn't touch Rainbow because he thought it a piece of shit so it'd probably be either Ed or a carpetbagger."
"What'd I put on Dad and Mom's grave?"
"Swedish Black, pre-dynamite days, if I remember what you said at the time. Good granite."
"Isn't that some of Ralph's shape carving on that one?"
"Sure is. Hey, do you know where he got that Minnesota Red?"
etc. etc. etc.

I once wrote six pages on the stones in her Olde Family Plotte in Holyoke, Mass.