I'll walk across the street to avoid a funeral home. If I do go to a funeral, it better be in a church, and then I'll sit as close to the exit as possible, and I'll be praying alright. I'll be praying please, please don't open that casket.

You should see me visiting the hospital, as I tiptoe gingerly down the corridors, peek tentatively around the corners. You see you never know when there might be a dead body lying unattended on a gurney.

Estate sales are no problem though. My husband tells me how funny he finds it that I have no compunction about "picking through dead people's stuff".

But what I really love is a good graveyard.

Once they're in the ground I'm fine. Mausoleums are another matter.

History, names, dates, plants, art, symbolism, sentimentality, mystery; it's all fascinating and only slightly creepy. Is there such a thing as cemetery tourism? I just know I don't think twice about spending a good part of a day exploring amongst the tombstones in any given town.

I've been lucky to live near some of historical significance. Lakewood, here in Minneapolis is great for learning about the evolution of funerary art.

There was the one in Illinois, in the heart of Spoon River country and that famous anthology, where my dog would run when she got loose, always going to the ancient grave of a girl named Maranda. In our English village sarcophagi with the tilted tops were scattered about the churchyard, exposing that dark crevice where only bones might be, adding a certain urgency to my step. A little girl wrought in stone guarded the grave of yet another little girl in Kansas, clutching a basket with fresh flowers, mysteriously replaced on a regular basis.

For Halloween, here's a collection of photos from some of my favorite haunts...

Boo.