Remembering and Remembrance

Thought for the day: Being kind is more important than being right.

I read somewhere that the original reason women carried bouquets of flowers during their wedding ceremonies was to mask unpleasant body odors. Not a terribly romantic notion, but in those days, I reckon bathing was about as rare as a martini bar in the middle of the Sahara.

Still, for whatever reason the tradition started, most brides still carry flowers, no matter how large or small their ceremony may be. Heck, flowers play a part in lots of different occasions.

Like poppies.

Since Lt. Col. John McCrae penned the poem In Flanders Field on May 3, 1915 from a WWI battlefield in Belgium, the poppy has been a symbol of remembrance and is closely associated with Memorial Day and Veterans Day. Today is our country's first National Poppy Day, and going forward, the Friday before Memorial Day will continue to carry this designation. Ever wonder about the significance of the red crepe paper poppies made and distributed to the public by veterans every year? The red represents the blood of those who gave their lives; the black represents mourning; and the green leaf represents regrowth following the devastation of war. Did you know there's even a correct way to wear a remembrance poppy? It should be worn on the left side, closest to the heart, with the leaf positioned at the 11:00 position, in honor of the 11th hour, 11th day, 11th month ending of WWI.

I only intended to write a short intro before sharing the following anniversary re-run, but I guess I got carried away. This past Wednesday was our 48th wedding anniversary, and next Monday is Memorial Day, so this post is in honor of both those occasions. I will always remember our wedding, and we all must honor and have remembrance for those who made the supreme sacrifice. Freedom is not free.

The following was originally posted on May 24, 2013, with the title Still Celebrating. 

It'll probably take me a little longer than usual to respond to your comments, because, ya know, our celebration continues... Forty-eight years. Life is good.

                       Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

*********************************

Thought for the day:  Our wedding was many years ago. The celebration continues to this day. [Gene Perret]

Yeah, our wedding was a few years ago.

I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.  [Rita Rudner]

Lucky me, I found that one special person at a very young age, and have been annoying the crap out of him ever since. Met him at the scabby-kneed age of twelve. (And married him anyway!) Okay, so we looked a little different when we got married in '69. Yeah, yeah, yeah...  he had hair... I had a waist. Lots of ups and downs since then, too, but one thing that hasn't changed? Our sense of humor. We're still laughing. Still working hard to pull the proverbial applecart in the same direction.

Still loving.

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.  [Mignon McLaughlin]

Of course, if you ask Smarticus how to make a marriage last, he'd probably say what he always says. He says the secret lies in him saying two simple words, whether he means 'em or not: Yes, dear. (He's kind of a smart ass.)

I say a successful marriage requires hardhats, because it's an ongoing project, and never really done. A successful marriage is an edifice that must be rebuilt every day.  [Andre Maurois]

Doggone it, there's no such thing as resting on your laurels when it comes to marriage, is there? Or as Smarticus says, "It only takes one aw sh*t to wipe out two attaboys." (Told ya he's a smart ass.)  Lily Tomlin expressed it a bit more delicately. She said, The road to success is always under construction.  
So maybe a successful marriage isn't something we ever achieve, but if you think about it, that's a good thing, because if we think we've already arrived, we may no longer strive.  Best to keep wearing those hardhats, to keep building that road to success, and to savor every bit of joy and humor we find along the way. Gotta have fun. Gotta laugh.

Talking about fun and laughter, remember Red Skelton? He was a very sweet, very mild-mannered PG-rated comedian. Anyway, he and his wife were married for many, many years, and here's his Recipe for the Perfect Marriage:

• Two times a week, we go to a nice restaurant, have a little beverage, good food and companionship. She goes on Tuesdays, and I go on Fridays.
• We also sleep in separate beds. Hers is in California, and mine is in Texas.
• I take my wife everywhere ... but she keeps finding her way back.
• I asked my wife where she wanted to go for our anniversary. "Somewhere I haven't been in a long time!" she said. So I suggested the kitchen.
• We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.
• She has an electric blender, electric toaster, and electric bread maker. She said, "There are too many gadgets and no place to sit down!" So I bought her an electric chair.
• My wife told me the car wasn't running well because there was water in the carburetor. I asked where the car was, and she told me, "In the lake."
• She got a mud pack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.
• She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, "Am I too late for the garbage?" The driver said, "No, jump in!"
• Remember. Marriage is the number one cause of divorce.
• I married Miss Right. I just didn't know her first name was Always.
• I haven't spoken to my wife in eighteen months. I don't like to interrupt.
• The last fight was my fault, though. My wife asked, "What's on TV?" and I said, "Dust!"

No telling what we're gonna do over the weekend, but I know it'll be an adventure. When you're married to a smart ass, every day is.

A long marriage is two people trying to dance a duet and two solos at the same time.  [Anne Taylor Fleming]











                                     Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

To those who died, honor and eternal rest; to those still in bondage, remembrance and hope; to those who returned, gratitude and peace.  [words engraved on the Illinois Vietnam veterans memorial]

Keeping the Memorial in Memorial Day

Thought for the day: The willingness with which our young people serve our country shall be directly proportional to the way they perceive our nation and how it treats our veterans. [George Washington]

Next Monday is Memorial Day, and in its honor, I'm re-running this post from 2011. I figured... it was time. We can all use a reminder from time to time.













********************

Thought for the day:  One nice thing about egotists: they don't talk about other people.

Well, are you ready for the big three-day weekend, America's unofficial start of summer? Ready for your first big cook-out of the season? Bought all your food, your booze, and have the swimming pool ready to go? Got those white shoes dusted off and back at the front of your closet? Your shopping list ready to take advantage of all those big sales?

Got everything done on your to-do list? Forgetting anything? Anything at all?


Some people consider Memorial Day to be our most important national holiday, but to others, it's nothing but  another three-day weekend filled with sales and cook-outs.

John Moon, the former commander-in-chief of the VFW, said

 Sacrifice is meaningless without remembrance. America's collective consciousness demands that all citizens recall and be aware of the deaths of their fellow countrymen during wartime. Far too often, the nation as a whole takes for granted the freedoms Americans enjoy. Those freedoms were paid for with the lives of others few of us actually knew. That's why they are all collectively remembered for one special day.

Memorial Day.

 A memorial is something that keeps remembrance alive. Let's all of us, in the midst of our cooking out, and in the midst of our shopping and having a grand old time this weekend, remember all of those men and women who made the supreme sacrifice.

Those are the four words engraved on the Korean War Memorial in Washington, D.C.  And here is a poem with that same title, "Freedom is Not Free,"  written in 1988 by Air Force ROTC Cadet Major Kelly Strong:

                                              I watched the flag pass by one day.
                                              It fluttered in the breeze.
                                             A young Marine saluted it,
                                             And then he stood at ease.

                                             I looked at him in uniform
                                             So young, so tall, so proud,
                                             With hair cut square and eyes alert,
                                             He'd stand out in any crowd.

                                              I thought how many men like him
                                             Had fallen through the years.
                                             How many died on foreign soil?
                                             How many mothers' tears?

                                             How many pilots' planes shot down?
                                             How many died at sea?
                                             How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
                                             No, freedom is not free.

                                             I heard the sound of "taps" one night,
                                            When everything was still.
                                             I listened to the bugler play
                                            And felt a sudden chill.

                                             I wondered just how many times
                                             That "taps" had meant "Amen,"
                                             When a flag had draped a coffin
                                             Of a brother or a friend.

                                             I thought of all the children,
                                            Of the mothers and the wives,
                                            Of fathers, sons and husbands
                                            With interrupted lives.

                                            I thought about a graveyard
                                           At the bottom of the sea,
                                           Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
                                           No, freedom is not free.

Vietnam memorial

As an amateur radio operator, I've also had the privilege of serving as a member of  Army MARS. (Military Affiliate Radio Service) For Memorial Day one year, the Chief shared a story with us about a Captain who was stuck in traffic at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It was pouring rain, and this captain was growing increasingly more agitated because he was running late, and knew he'd never make it to PT on time. Just as traffic was finally starting to move, the vehicle in front of him stopped, and a private jumped out into the pouring rain and ran into the Memorial Grove beside them.

What a bonehead! the captain thought.

Horns were honking, and the captain, as well as everyone else behind him, were fuming. Still, the private kept going, with his BDUs soaked and plastered to his skin. He ran up to one of the memorial plaques, picked up the small American flag that had fallen to the ground, and set it back up again. Then he came to attention and saluted, before running back to his car and driving off.

The captain later said, "That soldier, whose name I'll never know, taught me more about duty, honor, and respect than a hundred books or a thousand lectures. That simple salute - that simple act of honoring his fallen brother and his flag - encapsulated all the Army values in one gesture for me. It said I will never forget. I will keep the faith. I will keep the mission. I am an American soldier."

We may not be soldiers, but the least we can do is remember them, a very small effort for those who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. The picture above is of the familiar Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., but most states also have memorials in honor of our Vietnam vets. The one in Springfield, Illinois, includes the following words:  To those who died, honor and eternal rest; to those still in bondage, remembrance and hope; to those who returned, gratitude and peace.

One last comment about Memorial Day. May 30 also happens to be my brother's birthday. He's a retired Marine, who served multiple tours of duty in Vietnam. So to him, I wish a very happy birthday, as well as gratitude and peace.

Happy Birthday, big brother. Semper fi

                                                Enjoy your three-day weekend, y'all.
                              Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

We stand today strong not primarily because we have the weapons or resources or the leadership needed to wage war, thought all are necessary, but because of an ideal. It is the ideal of freedom founded on the rights of the common man, on the dignity of the human being, on the conception of the state as the servant, and not the master, of its people.  [Franklin D. Roosevelt]

Remembrance and Inspiration

Thought for the day:  Freedom Is Not Free. [Korean War Memorial, Washington, D.C.]

It's that time again. (Cue the pounding of the gavel coffee mug. Careful, now... don't spill!) It's time for the monthly meeting of the Cephalopod Coffeehouse, hosted by the Armchair Squid, and all book-lovers are cordially invited to belly up to the table to share reviews and info about the best book(s) they've read over the past month. If you'd like to read more reviews, or maybe join the gathering and add your own musings to the mix, pop on over to his blog.

In the meantime, in deference to those of you who don't give a good diddle about my reading habits, I'll save my review for the end of the post. But sorry, no silly billboards this month, because today is Memorial Day, and I take that pretty seriously. Yes, I know it was officially celebrated last Monday, but today... the 30th... was our traditional day of remembrance long before the date got changed to turn it into part of a convenient three-day weekend. So some part of me will always think of the 30th as Memorial Day. Just like it will always be my brother's birthday. Happy birthday, Ron! Semper fi.

Vietnam memorial

As an amateur radio operator, I had the privilege of serving as a member of  Army MARS. (Military Affiliate Radio Service) For Memorial Day one year, the Chief shared a story with us about a Captain who was stuck in traffic at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It was pouring rain, and this captain was growing increasingly more agitated because he was running late, and knew he'd never make it to PT on time. Just as traffic was finally starting to move, the vehicle in front of him stopped, and a private jumped out into the pouring rain and ran into the Memorial Grove beside them.

What a bonehead! the captain thought.

Horns were honking, and the captain, as well as everyone else behind him, were fuming. Still, the private kept going, with his BDUs soaked and plastered to his skin. He ran up to one of the memorial plaques, picked up the small American flag that had fallen to the ground, and set it back up again. Then he came to attention and saluted, before running back to his car and driving off.

The captain later said, "That soldier, whose name I'll never know, taught me more about duty, honor, and respect than a hundred books or a thousand lectures. That simple salute - that simple act of honoring his fallen brother and his flag - encapsulated all the Army values in one gesture for me. It said I will never forget. I will keep the faith. I will keep the mission. I am an American soldier."

We may not be soldiers, but the least we can do is remember them, a very small effort for those who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

To those who died, honor and eternal rest; to those still in bondage, remembrance and hope; to those who returned, gratitude and peace.  [Illinois Vietnam Veterans Memorial]

******************************

Okay... let's talk books, shall we?

I've read a mess of them over the past couple months. At least twenty-five since I last participated in this bookish gathering, but I'll only review one... (You're welcome!) my top pick. However, here are some other top-notch books I highly recommend, as well:


*  Green Eggs and Weezie, by Cathy Oliffe-Webster. Funny, heartwarming, lovable, and quirky. Guaranteed to please.
*  Leverage, by Nancy Thompson. WOW! What a heart-stopping thriller, and a fabulous follow-up to her debut novel The Mistaken. 
*  The Eighth Day, by Dianne Salerni. Very cool tale about a secret eighth day of the week, only accessible to certain descendants from the days of King Arthur. Technically a YA book, but enjoyable for all ages.
* West of Paradise, by Marcy Hatch. An interesting mixture of history, adventure, romance, and fun. Oh, yeah, and time travel... to the Old West.
* Fiance by Fate, by Jennifer Shirk. Another winning sweet romance from this lovely lady, sprinkled with just the right amount of humor. Her stories never, ever disappoint.
* The Promise of Rain, by Rula Sinara. While reading this one, I could practically hear Baby Elephant Walk (from the movie Hatari) playing in my head, because the heroine runs an elephant research and rescue camp in Kenya. Magnificent setting... and a satisfying tale of friendship and love to go along with it.

Okay, I'd better stop now, or I'll be listing all twenty-five books, so let's move on to the top pick:

Of all the books I've read in recent months, this relatively short non-fiction book made the most indelible impression on me.

What did I think? Turn to the word "wonderful" in your thesaurus. See all those words there? THAT'S what I think of this book. And then some.

Do you consider yourself a seeker? I mean, have you consciously sought a better understanding of yourself, of life, spirituality, and ... death? Yes, death. I know; it isn't a topic many people feel comfortable discussing around the dinner table... or anywhere else, for that matter... but don't you sometimes wonder about it? After all, death is life's ultimate mystery and final challenge, and each of us is eventually gonna have to face it, so why not talk about it? Gee, wouldn't it be fantastic if someone older and wiser were willing to discuss old age and death with us? Maybe he could let us in on some of the spiritual wisdom and insights he's gained through a long life of both traditional, and non-traditional, seeking... and finding.

Guess what? Someone IS willing, and an amazing somebody he is. When in his mid-eighties, Reb Zalman, a beloved rabbi, reformer, innovator, and life-long seeker, teamed up with writer Sara Davidson with the intention of creating a book that could gently guide readers through the labyrinth of old age, and away from the usual "freak out" factor regarding death. Once a week for two years, they met and talked. This book... this wonderful book... is the product of those intimate interviews.

It doesn't matter what your religious background is. You will love this rabbi, and savor his honesty and down-to-earth humanity. I found his sense of humor, his joyful approach to life, and his genuine love of God and his fellow man irresistible. Thanks to Davidson's skillful writing, Reb Zalman now feels like a beloved friend, and one I will never forget. My bet is you'd feel exactly the same way.

It's been a long time since a book affected me so deeply. The rabbi is an extraordinary man who has lived an extraordinary life, and as he now approaches his ninetieth birthday, I'm deeply grateful that he cared so much about the rest of us to join forces with Davidson to create this book. For us. For you. For me. Extraordinary.

****

One last word about books... actually about my book. A very wonderful lady and fellow blogger recently read Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, and much to my humbled amazement, she's going out of her way now to promote it through a review and giveaway on her blog. (If you don't already follow Rosey's blog, check it out... among other things, she offers a LOT of valuable product reviews and frequent giveaways.) She... and a bunch of her other terrific followers... have been tweeting about the giveaway every day. Honest, it's enough to make an old gal like me blush. I'm blown away by her kindness. If you're interested in taking part in her giveaway for a copy... either paperback or e-version... you can go here. Even if you don't want to participate in this giveaway, check out her blog, anyway. You won't be sorry. As for you, Rosey? Thank you. Thank you so very much.

                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Half a Century

Thought for the day: Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.  [John F. Kennedy]

When this family picture was taken in Hyannis Port in August of 1962, no one realized how little future our American president had left. And it's hard to fathom that this day, November 22, 2013, marks the fiftieth anniversary of the day he was assassinated.

Fifty years. Half a century. Yet, those of us who are old enough to remember that day remember exactly what we were doing when we heard the news. Images of that day and the days that followed are indelibly etched into our minds. Jackie's chic pink suit, splattered with blood... young John-John saluting his father's coffin... the subsequent on-camera shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald... and so much more. But fifty years? Has it really been that long since the end of Camelot?

I wasn't planning to write about this today, but the fiftieth anniversary is hard to ignore. Especially when so many newspapers and television networks are commemorating it by highlighting every detail of those days. The images already residing in our minds and psyches are being shown on TV stations all over the world today, reinforcing them and threatening to break our hearts all over again.

But I don't want to relive that horrible day. Once was enough. Personally, I'd rather think about his life.

In the 1943 picture above, that's JFK on the far right, when he was serving as commander of  PT-109. After a Japanese vessel cut the PT in half, his actions to keep his crew alive were nothing short of amazing... the stuff of legends. Things like swimming three miles to shore... while towing an injured crew member by a strap, which he held in his teeth. A star-struck young boy asked him what it was like to be a war hero, and JFK responded, "It wasn't voluntary. They sunk my boat."

                                                     Anybody remember this song? [1962]

I think one of the things we found so intriguing about this good-looking president with the broad Boston accent and silver tongue was his role as a family man. It was endearing to see his young children scampering around the White House... to see pictures of him working at his desk in the Oval Office, with John-John playing beneath it... to see him walking beside his daughter Caroline while she sat on her pony Macaroni. Even though most of us couldn't identify with his wealthy background, when we saw pictures of him playing touch football with his brothers, or saw him walking and playing with his children, he seemed like one of us. And he seemed to care... about equal rights, about the poor, about the disenfranchised.

And, man, could he ever deliver a speech. Most of us remember his words, Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country," but a whole book could be written about some of his other lesser-known utterances, too.

Like these:

*  Let us not seek the Republican answer or the Democratic answer, but the right answer. Let us not seek to fix the blame for the past. Let us accept our own responsibility for the future.

* Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.

* Do not pray for easier lives. Pray to be stronger men.

*As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.

* When written in Chinese, the word crisis is composed of two characters. One represents danger, and the other represents opportunity.

* If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.

*  Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the the discomfort of thought.

* The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.

Then there was the famous speech he delivered in Berlin. He took quite a media hit over that one. Here's what I wrote about it in a 2011 post:

Do you remember (or have you heard about) the speech President Kennedy made in West Germany on June 26, 1963? That was just twenty-two months after the Berlin wall went up, and he attempted to express his solidarity with the people of West Germany that day. His exact words were: Ich bin ein Berliner.

Unfortunately, a Berliner happens to be a type of jelly donut made in Berlin, and following that speech, President Kennedy got a merciless ribbing in the media for allegedly making a linguistic faux pas by declaring to the German people: I am a jelly donut.  He took the worst ribbing from America's so-called liberal press, but he also made the news in other parts of the world, as well, and for years,  teachers all over America referenced this speech when instructing their German classes about the proper and improper use of the word ein. Check out what appeared as recently as 1988 in the New York Times:

It's worth recalling, again, President John F. Kennedy's use of a German phrase while standing before the Berlin Wall. It would be great, his wordsmiths thought, for him to declare himself a symbolic citizen of Berlin. Hence, Ich bin ein Berliner. What they did not know, but could easily have found out, was that such citizens never refer to themselves as 'Berliners.' They reserve that term for a favorite confection often munched at breakfast. So, while they understood and appreciated the sentiments behind the President's impassioned declaration, the residents tittered among themselves when he exclaimed, literally, "I am a jelly-filled doughnut."

— William J. Miller, I Am a Jelly-Filled Doughnut, The New York Times April 30, 1988[10]

So why bring it up now? Because I just discovered that, in fact, President Kennedy's words were absolutely correct, even if they were delivered with a Boston accent. If he had said, "Ich bin Berliner," as his critics insisted he should have, he would have sounded foolish. Obviously, with the way he mangled the German language, he was most certainly not a native of Berlin. According to multiple evaluations of the speech by Germans, the way he said it actually indicated, "I am one with the people of Berlin," which is exactly what he wanted to say. And which is exactly how the Germans received it. None of the ridicule leveled at him ever came from the Germans.

***

Yes, JFK died fifty years ago today. But I'd rather remember the smiling faces as his open-topped car crept past a cheering Dallas crowd. I don't want to remember what happened to wipe the smile off our collective face. I don't want to remember the end of our collective idealism. I don't want to remember the end of Camelot.

With thousands of other people, I was in Washington the day of the funeral procession. It was a cold clear day, and the crowd was enormous. What stands out in my mind, even after all these years, is that in spite of the crowd... made up of people of all ages... there was no idle chatter when the casket rolled past. No coughs. No sneezes. The only sound I remember was the slow clop-clop of horses' hooves.


 Ah, Johnny, we barely knew ye... 

Although his light was extinguished far too soon, the memorial flame at Arlington Cemetery for John Fitzpatrick Kennedy, thirty-fifth president of the United States... will burn forever. 

                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet.  [Robert Kennedy]

All Gave Some, and Some Gave All

Thought for the day: To those who died, honor and eternal rest; to those still in bondage, remembrance and hope; to those who returned, gratitude and peace. [words engraved on the Vietnam War Memorial in Illinois]

Memorial Day weekend is frequently considered America's unofficial start of summer, so did you have your first big cook-out of the season?  Didja get your white shoes dusted off and bring 'em back to the front of your closet? Were you able to get out and take advantage of all those big sales? Get everything done on your to-do list? Forget anything? Anything at all?

 I hope you took a little time to remember what Memorial Day is all about...

John Moon, the former commander-in-chief of the VFW, said

 Sacrifice is meaningless without remembrance. America's collective consciousness demands that all citizens recall and be aware of the deaths of their fellow countrymen during wartime. Far too often, the nation as a whole takes for granted the freedoms Americans enjoy. Those freedoms were paid for with the lives of others few of us actually knew. That's why they are all collectively remembered for one special day.

 In order to provide us with a convenient three-day weekend, Memorial Day was observed yesterday, but its traditional date was May 30, so with the way my blogging schedule works out, I'm writing about Memorial Day in between the two dates. The 30th also happens to be my brother Ron's birthday. He's a retired Marine, who served multiple tours of duty in Vietnam. So to him, I wish a very happy birthday, as well as gratitude and peace.

Those four simple but powerful words are engraved on the Korean War Memorial in Washington, D.C.  And here is a poem with that same four-word title,  written in 1988 by Air Force ROTC Cadet Major Kelly Strong:

                                              I watched the flag pass by one day.
                                              It fluttered in the breeze.
                                             A young Marine saluted it,
                                             And then he stood at ease.

                                             I looked at him in uniform
                                             So young, so tall, so proud,
                                             With hair cut square and eyes alert,
                                             He'd stand out in any crowd.

                                              I thought how many men like him
                                             Had fallen through the years.
                                             How many died on foreign soil?
                                             How many mothers' tears?

                                             How many pilots' planes shot down?
                                             How many died at sea?
                                             How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
                                             No, freedom is not free.

                                             I heard the sound of "taps" one night,
                                            When everything was still.
                                             I listened to the bugler play
                                            And felt a sudden chill.

                                             I wondered just how many times
                                             That "taps" had meant "Amen,"
                                             When a flag had draped a coffin
                                             Of a brother or a friend.

                                             I thought of all the children,
                                            Of the mothers and the wives,
                                            Of fathers, sons and husbands
                                            With interrupted lives.

                                            I thought about a graveyard
                                           At the bottom of the sea,
                                           Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
                                           No, freedom is not free.

Vietnam memorial

As an amateur radio operator, I've also had the privilege of serving as a member of  Army MARS. (Military Affiliate Radio Service) For Memorial Day one year, the Chief shared a story with us about a Captain who was stuck in traffic at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It was pouring rain, and this captain was growing increasingly more agitated because he was running late, and knew he'd never make it to PT on time. Just as traffic was finally starting to move, the vehicle in front of him stopped, and a private jumped out into the pouring rain and ran into the Memorial Grove beside them.

What a bonehead! the captain thought.

Horns were honking, and the captain, as well as everyone else behind him, were fuming. Still, the private kept going, with his BDUs soaked and plastered to his skin. He ran up to one of the memorial plaques, picked up the small American flag that had fallen to the ground, and set it back up again. Then he came to attention and saluted, before running back to his car and driving off.

The captain later said, "That soldier, whose name I'll never know, taught me more about duty, honor, and respect than a hundred books or a thousand lectures. That simple salute - that simple act of honoring his fallen brother and his flag - encapsulated all the Army values in one gesture for me. It said I will never forget. I will keep the faith. I will keep the mission. I am an American soldier."

We may not be soldiers, but the least we can do is remember them, a very small effort for those who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

                                         Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Psssst. Only a few more days left in the month. Every comment you make earns a shot at winning a FREE signed copy of my book.

Today is supposed to be my book's big launch day... woo HOO! The e-version is, indeed, now available on Amazon. The paperback is a little slower to show up for some reason, but it should be there soon. (Nothing like showing up late to its own party. Sorry 'bout that.)

If It's Not One Thing, It's Your Mother

Thought for the day:  I want my children to have all the things I couldn't afford. Then I want to move in with them.  [Phyllis Diller]

Giving birth is easy. It's like pulling a watermelon out of your nose.

This coming Sunday is Mothers' Day, so what better time to write about mothers, right?

A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never cared for pie.  [Tenneva Jordan]


Far beyond the obvious physical changes, there's something about the miracle of having a child that changes a woman forever. Suddenly, a woman who used to be able to sleep through a sonic boom wakes up on full alert every time her baby rolls over or makes the tiniest sound. After having a baby, a woman who used to be a walking fashion plate doesn't think twice about wearing wrinkled clothes stained with spit-up. And holy moley, her capacity to love expands even more than her waistline did. (Good thing, too... if it didn't, no woman would ever have more than one child!)

Suddenly, nothing is quite as sweet as those tiny little baby feet. They're downright kissable, aren't they?

There is an instinct in a woman to love most her own child— and an instinct to make any child who needs love, her own. [Robert Brault]

Then, practically overnight, babies become teenagers, and all of a sudden the little kid who used to be afraid of the dark wants to stay out half the night with his friends. The princess who didn't take her first step until she was almost a year old wants to borrow the car. They will always be the children of her heart, but more and more, they also become children of the world.

The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant — and let the air out of the tires.  [Dorothy Parker]

But the truth is, no matter how big her babies' feet get to be, they still belong to her babies. Doesn't matter if those feet belong to a teacher, a doctor, or are ensconced in a pair of combat boots. Babies, one and all.

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that supposed to mean? In my heart, it don't mean a thing. [Toni Morrison- Beloved]

Of all the things I've ever read about mothers, I think Erma Bombeck said it the absolute best in her essay, When God Created Mothers:

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

"One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

"God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

"I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

"But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can't  imagine what this mother can do or endure."

"Can it think?"

"Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."

"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

"What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

"You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.”

****

And just as our mothers always look at us as their children, a certain part of us wants to hang onto them, too. We don't want things to change. We want them to always be there, our home plate in the game of life, our constant refuge. We don't want them to grow old; we don't want them to get sick, and God knows, we don't want them to die.  But even after they do, they live on forever in our hearts.

The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.  [Honore de Balzac]

Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall; a mother's secret love outlives them all. [Oliver Wendell Holmes]

To all of you mothers, I wish you a wonderful Mother's Day. To all of you whose mothers are still with you, cherish them, not just on Mothers' Day, but every day of the year. To those of you experiencing that heart-wrenching role reversal—  taking care of your mothers, essentially mothering your mothers, as they once took care of you, with them depending on you as you once depended on them— bless you. I know how hard it is. For those of you whose mothers are no longer with us, I know you'll be thinking of them. And as long as they live in our hearts, they're never entirely gone.

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world, a mother's love is not. [James Joyce]

                             Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

During the month of May, every comment you leave here will earn you another shot at winning a FREE autographed copy of my book Hot Flashes & Cold Lemonade. Pssst! Wanta up your chances? All ya have to do is mention my book on your blog, and it'll earn you another two chances. 

(If you're on Goodreads, I'd sure appreciate it if you tagged my book on there as one you'd like to read.)

[Images from morguefile.]

Remember?

Thought for the day;  Those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

second grade school picture

Looking back, I was a pretty melodramatic kid. I took everything to heart, cried easily, thought in superlatives, and laughed quickly. (Come to think of it, I haven't changed all that much.)

Anyhow, I'd like to tell you a story about something that happened when I was in first grade. Sorry about using the later picture here, but my first grade pic is plastered (for eternity) in a montage my mother made years ago. Too bad, because I actually looked melodramatic in that picture. Very serious, and much more fitting for this post.

[ By the way, notice the pin I'm wearing? It was my treasured Davy Crockett pin. That, and a little green Heinz pickle were my favorites. Weird kid.]

Anyway, back to the story. It was December 7, just like today, and when I came home from school, I was still brooding about something my teacher had told my class that day. After dinner, the family took a ride to my grandmother's house, and while standing in the back of the old car with my cheek resting on the back of my mother's seat, I sighed deeply, and said, "Poor Paul." My mother, naturally, wanted to know what I was talking about. "Paul Harbor," I said very knowingly, with tears in my eyes. " Japan hit him on the head with a bomb today."

Okay, so gimme a break. I was only five years old.

The point is, even though we were only first graders, our teacher tried to tell us what the day meant, and every student in our elementary school stood with head bowed for a moment of silence that day. No matter how limited our understanding, we knew the day was important. We knew someone died. We understood the concept of bombs. And each year after that, as we were reminded by our teachers every December, and stood for that moment of silence, we better understood the significance of the day.

Early Sunday morning, seventy years ago today, Japanese bombers attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and destroyed most of our country's destroyers. Caught us unaware. Killed far too many of our sailors and soldiers. And precipitated our country's entrance into World War II.

Most of the survivors of that attack are no longer with us. Most World War II vets are gone. But we should never forget. Schoolchildren no longer stand for a moment of silence. They're no longer taught to remember, respect and appreciate the significance of days like Pearl Harbor Day and of the veterans who lost their lives that day. More's the pity.

So WE must remember. And WE should teach them.

 wrecked destroyers

                                                                             

plane in flames

U.S.S. Arizona in flames

In 1942, this poster, created by Allen Saalburg, was issued by the Office of War Information:

To mark the thirtieth anniversary, the following montage poster was issued:

                                     

                                    And along withe the poster, this poem by JO3 Jim Deken, USN:

                                                          In the darkest of moments

                                                          a nation is wounded,

                                                          rights herself

                                                          and pushes on.

                                                          Her wounds give her strength

                                                          and urge her on to victory.

                                                          Time passes,

                                                          the wound heals

                                                          but leaves a mark.

                                                          The mark is her reminder

                                                          of what has been and could be again.

                                                           She does not forget.

U.S.S. Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor

  [Except for that last picture, all the Pearl Harbor shots are courtesy of the National Archives.]

Interested in seeing some additional pictures, which evoke an uncanny you-are-there feeling? Please go here

to see an excellent collection of photographs compiled by the Boston Globe last year for the 69th anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day.

To complete today's history reminder, how about FDR's speech about the date that will live in infamy?

                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. And ...  if only for a moment ... please remember all the Pauls.