As a child I took on a superstition I once heard my big sister state. That if I breathed while passing by a cemetery, I would somehow take on the heart/lungs/spirit/I don't remember what exactly of a dead old man. So for years I held my breath. Through stop lights and long stretches. It probably contributed to my swimming career, now that I think about it. I've recently started going for walks past a cemetery, and breathing is simply a necessity it turns out. Today I even slowed to a stop, and breathed it in. I stood and held on the the wrought iron fence, and then I passed through the open gates. I saw a lot of names and dates. Dates that were too close together... one family in particular that lost a baby every couple of years, and each old fashioned name had "Little" in front of it... Little Bea, Little Lois, and a handful of other Littles, all under two years old. There were stones with two names, but only three da...