The Artistry of War

Thought for the day: All warfare is based on deception. [Sun Tze, 545 BC-470 BC]

[image source: wikipedia]

The thought for the day comes from an ancient book, The Art of War, which was written many centuries ago by Sun Tze, a Chinese general, military strategist, philosopher and writer. That particular passage continues: Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.

Deception. It can win wars, and the more clever the deception, the more effectively it works. I reckon everybody's familiar with the classic tale of the Trojan Horse, but have you ever heard of World War II's Ghost Army?

Nope, they weren't literally a group of deceased spirits looking after the soldiers, but their behind-the-scenes top secret missions sure did save a lot of lives. I guess you could say they were... weapons of mass deception. (Sorry.) Their mission: to deceive the enemy, and their work was done in complete anonymity and without acknowledgement. In fact, their fellow soldiers didn't even know their unit existed, let alone what they did... until 1996, when the U.S. government declassified the existence of the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops. AKA the Ghost Army. Some of their missions remain classified today.

[source: National Archives]

Looking at this photo, you might think these guys possessed some kind of super strength. But nope, they weren't super-strong. In fact, the 1100 men of this unit were recruited from places like art schools and ad agencies. What the government wanted... what they needed... were artists, illustrators, actors, sound specialists, and radio experts. People with good minds and an active sense of creativity. The ability to create illusions and to think outside the box. Because they used inflatable tanks, sound trucks, fake radio transmissions, and scripts that were worthy of a Cecil B. DeMille production.

[source: National Archives]

Staging more than twenty battlefield deceptions... that we know of... including the largest deception in military history, which they carried out on D-day, it's estimated that their ability to fool the Germans saved more than twenty thousand lives. With their hard work and ingenuity, their tactics made their small unit appear to be 30,000 strong.

[source: National Archives]

Here's one of their pieces of rubber artillery. Standard procedure was to inflate tanks, cannons, jeeps, trucks and airplanes and then camouflage them in such a way that German reconnaissance planes flying overhead could detect them. They created fake airfields, soldier bivouacs, (right down to laundry hanging on the clotheslines) motor pools, artillery batteries, and tank formations... all with a few hours notice.

On D-Day, their deception convinced the Germans that the attack was coming from Calais, which is about two hundred miles north of the actual attack site at Normandy.

[source: National Archives]

One of their fake planes.

[source: National Archives]

Even fake landing craft.

[source: National Archives]

Five hundred-pound speakers played an important part in their ruses, too. Prior to deploying to Europe, some Bell Labs engineers worked with a team from this unit to create state-of-the-art recordings of armored and infantry units at Fort Knox. Various mixtures of these sound effects would be blasted from these speakers to give the sonic deceptions they needed to create their auditory illusions.

They even transmitted what they called spoof radio. They conducted fake traffic nets, impersonating real operators from other units. Although Morse Code involves sending dots and dashes, each operator has a distinctive way of doing it, called his fist. These guys even knew how to impersonate an individual operators' fist, so the enemy wouldn't know the real operator... and his entire unit... were no longer in the area.



Lest you think I'm trying to romanticize war, I'm not. But what these guys did is remarkable, and now that part of their story has been told, I wanted to share it with you. What can I say? I'm a history nerd, and I thought this was a fascinating story. PBS did a documentary about them a few years, but I missed it. (Doggone it!) But here's a trailer for that show:

             Amazing story, isn't it? I wonder what else we don't know about World War II...?

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

War is wretched beyond description, and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize its cruel reality. [John McCain]

Wars are poor chisels for carving out a peaceful tomorrow. [Martin Luther King, Jr.]

If we don't end war, war will end us. [H.G. Wells]

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. [Dwight D. Eisenhower]

Hate war... but love and appreciate those who fight and sacrifice in them for our benefit. [me]

The Nearly Naked Truth

Thought for the day:  A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. [Tenneva Jordan]

It's true. Mothers have a distinct way of making little, often unnoticed sacrifices. When food is running low, they aren't hungry. When one of the dinner plates is chipped, it always manages to find itself in front of her spot at the table. If her children need shoes or clothes or glasses, she decides her own, no matter how old or shabby, will do just fine. It's simply what they do. They have our backs... and cover our butts.

With Mothers' Day coming up this Sunday, I thought it was a good time for me to be lazy re-run one of my favorite posts about mothers. It originally ran in 2011 as Mothers Cover Our Butts, and the following year, it ran again as Still Covering Our Butts. My brother informed me that our grandparents didn't actually enter the U.S. via Ellis Island; they came into Boston. (oops!)  But regardless of their entry point, the rest of this story is absolutely true.

To all of you moms out there, I wish you a fantabulous weekend.  If your mother is still with you, be sure to give her an extra big hug and let her know how much you appreciate her.

Okay, ready? Here goes...

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

Thought for the day:  If it's not one thing, it's your mother... 

With Mother's Day right around the corner, I'd like to share a story about my grandmother. In early 1923, she, my grandfather, my father and his brother left Scotland and set sail for the United States, essentially abandoning the only home they'd ever known so they could sail off into the great unknown and start all over again. Must've been scary, don't you think? A huge sacrifice. But like countless other immigrants, facing the unknown was a sacrifice they were absolutely willing to make for the sake of their children and their children's children. NO sacrifice was too great, right? Then again, the (ahem) naked truth is, by the time they reached the United States, poor Mom-Mom learned that she'd sacrificed more than she'd ever intended.

Try to picture it. Can you imagine how everyone on that ship must have felt when they finally caught sight of Lady Liberty for the first time? My guess would be intense excitement and pride, mingled with a shot of apprehension. Probably a good deal of relief, too, not to mention exhaustion.

For Mom-Mom, I have a hunch relief was tops on her emotional menu. Relief that the seemingly endless trip was finally coming to an end, and relief at the prospect of standing on dry stable land again. Because my poor grandmother pretty much puked her way across the Atlantic. From the time they left Europe, she had such debilitating seasickness, she rarely left her bed.

Which left Pop, a rather dour Scot, in charge of the kiddies.

My father was still in diapers at the time, and though Pop, a master carpenter, was quite skillful at building a custom cabinet, he wasn't at all accustomed to being saddled with the business of childcare. So he improvised. He blithely tore up my grandmother's clothes and, one by one, used them to diaper my father's bottom. When a diaper got dirty, he simply tossed it overboard and reached for another dress.

So by the time the Statue of Liberty came into view, a long trail of improvised nappies stretched clear across the ocean, and my grandmother? Let's just say that she came perilously close to being one of those naked masses yearning to breathe free, with few clothes to her name beyond those she'd been wearing in her sick bed.

Years later, when Mom-Mom told me this story, she was laughing, but I doubt if she found much humor in it back in 1923.  Trust me, Pop paid for his blunder, though. As I remember her, my grandmother had an extensive wardrobe from some of the best stores in Baltimore.

For those of you who are mothers, I wish you a very happy Mother's Day. For those of you who are fortunate enough to still have your mother with you, do your best to spoil the living daylights out of her. After all, she may not have sacrificed all her clothes to cover your butt, but I'm sure she made many other sacrifices, and covered your butts in many other ways. For those of you who've already lost your mother, this is for you:

Your mother is always with you. She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street, she's the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks, she's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well. Your mother lives inside your laughter. And she's crystallized in every teardrop. She's the place you came from, your first home; and she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can separate you. Not time... not space... not even death.

Sorry. I wish I did, but I don't know the origin of that little piece. Someone sent it to me without attribution many years ago.

For those earlier Mothers' Day posts, I included a recipe for some fabulously delicious strawberry pie that my mother used to love. It's still fabulously delicious, and if you want it and don't mind using a good bit of sugar, you can still find it by checking out the tag words in the side bar, but I'm gonna share something different with y'all this time around: an unbelievably good recipe for sugar-free cheesecake with sugar-free blueberry topping. It took me a number of experiments and a good bit of ingredient-juggling to come up with something that reeeeeeally works, but I promise, you will NOT be able to tell the sugar is missing.

Okay, first, the crust. That's the easiest part, if you wanta be lazy smart. Buy one of those extra-serving graham cracker crusts. Yeah, there's some sugar in them, but not enough that I worry about making the crust from scratch. If you'd rather make your own with or without sugar, go for it.

Now, the filling. Plop two packages of Neufchatel cheese into a bowl and let it come to room temperature. (Or you can use regular cream cheese, or reduced fat cream cheese, but the Neufchatel is lower in fat, costs less, and works well.)  While you're pulling the cheese out of the fridge, pull out four eggs and let them get closer to room temperature, too. Or not. If you'd rather just use the cheese and eggs cold, go for it. No skin off my nose. It's just a little easier to work with after they've warmed up a bit.

When you're ready to start, add 1/4 cup of Truvia (a non-caloric natural sugar substitute made with stevia leaves) to the bowl with the cheese, and blend well with an electric mixer. Mix in a tablespoon of flour and a teaspoon or two of vanilla extract. (to taste) Beat in the eggs, one at a time. Then blend in a cup of sour cream and pour the mixture into your pie shell. Bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes. To prevent the top from cracking, put a pan of hot water on a lower shelf in the oven.

While your cheesecake is baking, you can whip up the topping. Put 1/4 cup of water and 2 tablespoons of Truvia into a saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Add 2 cups of fresh berries. (It's good with 2; even better with 3.) Lower heat and continue cooking until it ... looks like blueberry topping. (About three minutes, tops. You COULD add a tablespoon of arrowroot or cornstarch to thicken the topping, but I think it's fine without it.) Other options: If you happen to have a fresh lemon in your fridge, squirt a little bit of juice into the pan to add a little pop of citrus. Also, if you're a big fan of cinnamon and/or nutmeg, you can add a pinch of one or both.) Remove from heat, and add another cup of fresh berries. Chill. The topping, that is. Well, I suppose you could chill, too, because you're gonna have to wait a little while until you can sink your teeth into the cheesecake. It's best served chilled.

DIG IN!!!

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

Oddities and Endings

Thought for the day:  What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare? [W.H. Davies]

There's no end to the number of things in this world that are worthy of a little staring and studying. We can never know or understand it all in one lifetime, but that's no excuse for not trying. For not questioning. For not appreciating.

Today, we're gonna consider a handful of little-known facts that simply struck my fancy. Mental odds and ends, I guess you could call them.

If there's only one thing in your junk drawer, what do you call it... an odd or an end...?

[wikipedia]

This first one is about an ending. Everyone's familiar with the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, but did you realize what a vital role engineers played that day? What sacrifices they made? Of the twenty-five engineers on board, not a single one survived. That's because they manned the pumps, and kept the electricity running for as long as possible, so the lights and radio remained operational... so others could escape and survive.

The disaster was not of their doing, but they died heroes, trying to correct the mistakes of others; knowing their own survival unlikely, they died so that others might have a chance to live. [ F.J. Blake, White Star Engineering Superintendent]

[Daily Knowledge Newsletter]

This one is more of an ending, followed by a shiny new beginning. In 1999, Australian Bill Morgan, 37 years old, was involved in a serious truck accident. While being treated in the hospital, an allergic reaction to a medication caused him to have a heart attack. A fatal heart attack. The guy actually flat-lined for fourteen minutes before doctors could revive him... only to spend the next twelve days in a deep coma. With no expectations of a recovery, doctors advised his family to pull the plug. But nope...  this guy wasn't done yet. He not only woke up, against all odds, but he was fine... all of his faculties were intact. With his new miraculous lease on life, he proposed to  his long-time girlfriend, and when she accepted, he bought a lottery ticket to celebrate. He won a new car. A Melbourne TV station, intrigued with his tale, asked him to re-enact buying and scratching off a lottery ticket for their news segment. So he did... and he won again. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Dontcha love stories with a happy ending and a bright new beginning?

[RIA Novosta]

This picture shows people lining up to get water during the WWII siege of Leningrad, a 900-day period of oppression and deprivation that lasted from September of 1941 until the spring of '44. Many people died during that time, and among them, nine Soviet scientists who starved to death while protecting... the world's largest seed bank.

Created in 1926 by scientist Nikolai Vavilov, Pavlovsk Station contained four hundred thousand seeds, roots and fruits, and was established with the goal of ending world famine. When the Germans took over their city in 1941, the Pavlovsk Station scientists starved to death rather than eat any of the food they were protecting, because they considered it to be their country's hope for the future.

The fictionalized retelling of this story can be found in the novel Hunger, by Elise Blackwell. It is also immortalized in the song When the War Came, by the Decemberists.

[wikipedia]

In 1947, boxer Jimmy Doyle challenged welterweight champ Sugar Ray Robinson to a title bout. Robinson initially agreed, but then tried to back out after he had a vivid dream in which he'd killed his opponent in the ring. The promoters stood to lose a lot of money if they had to cancel the fight, so they got a priest and a minister to convince Robinson that it was only a dream, and the fight should go on as scheduled. It did go on, but in the eighth round, Doyle hit the canvas, and never regained consciousness. He died seventeen hours later. Following his death, boxing rules were changed, so that fighters who suffered serious head injuries (as Doyle had in several previous bouts) wouldn't be allowed to fight again. The twenty-two year old had promised to buy his mother a house with his winnings, a promise he was unable to keep... but Robinson kept it for him. He donated all of his money from his next four fights to Doyle's mother. Robinson retired in 1965, was inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame in '67, and founded the Sugar Ray Robinson Youth Foundation for inner-city children in '69. Ironically, his foundation never sponsored a boxing program.

Rhythm is everything in boxing. Every move you make starts with your heart, and that's in rhythm, or you're in trouble. [Sugar Ray Robinson]

[Australian Red Cross]

Back to Australia for the last story. Meet James Harrison, AKA the man with the golden arm. When he was fourteen years old, he had major surgery, in which he received thirteen liters of blood, He swore that as soon as he turned eighteen, he'd pay it back by becoming a blood donor. He was a man true to his word. Matter of fact, he's been in the Guinness Book of World Records since 2003 for the most blood donated by one person. And his donations have saved more than two million babies.

That's because he has a rare antigen in his blood that can cure Rhesus disease. Research based on his blood led to the creation of RhoGAM, which is administered to women whose blood may be incompatible with their babies because of Rh factor. (Like me!) By donating on the average of every three weeks for fifty-seven years, Mr. Harrison reached his one thousandth donation in May of 2011. He reached 1106 as of June of 2015, and he's still going strong. Why? Because he still sees it as a duty and a way to pay it forward. What an amazing man. He gave the gift of life to millions of people. Including my children.

[David Gray/Reuters/Landov]

                             On that happy feel-good note, I'll say adieu for now.

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

Welcome Home

Thought for the day: Better late than never.

[morguefile]

Smarticus and I had a new, but welcome, experience on Tuesday night. He was invited to an American Legion hall to receive a Certificate of Appreciation for his service in Vietnam. Never mind that my favorite grunt (i.e. infantryman) came home from there forty-five long years ago; someone finally wanted to welcome him home now. They wanted to say... thanks. For a job well and honorably done.

Plus, they were gonna (ahem)  feed us. So we went.

[morguefile]

At the end of World War II, troops were welcomed home with ticker-tape parades, and with lots of cheering and speechifying, all signifying universal appreciation and respect. The sign over there -----> represents just a smidgen of the appreciation and  support that has been given to soldiers returning from tours in the Gulf War, and from Iraq and Afghanistan. (And that's a good thing. Definitely a good thing.)

But Vietnam vets? None of that. My father-in-law, A WWII vet, made and hung a huge Welcome Home banner across the front of the house for Smarticus, but our country as a whole met our soldiers returning home from Vietnam with silence, and even worse, with disdain. Their sacrifices went largely unappreciated, and were dismissed, or even insulted, by a population that was, for the most part, grossly misinformed.

No event in American history is more misunderstood than the Vietnam War. It was misreported then, and it is misremembered now. Rarely have so many people been so wrong about so much. Never have the consequences of their misunderstanding been so tragic.  [Richard Nixon]

[morguefile]

Yeah, I know. Nixon said that, so it isn't exactly a recent quote, but that doesn't make it any less true. The fact is, the media got so many things wrong back then, a proliferation of half-truths and myths became accepted by most Americans as facts, and further inflamed raging anti-war sentiments, sentiments which led to the shameful treatment of those who served their country by fighting in it.

I could go on a major tirade here, and tell you about some of the blatantly incorrect and misleading reports and myths from back then, but that isn't the point of this post. The point of this post is that our country is finally trying to set things right.

[morguefile]

It's finally considered appropriate to thank our Vietnam vets. In 2011, the U.S. Senate unanimously passed a resolution designating March 30 as Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans Day. (Funny, but I didn't hear anything about it. Did you?) The idea was to spur a national effort to recognize the men and women who were denied a proper welcome upon returning home more than forty years ago.

Since then, more and more states have passed similar resolutions and laws, naming either March 29 or 30 as Vietnam Veterans Day. (When U.S. troops left Vietnam in 1973, the date was March 29 in Vietnam, and the 30th here at home, so either date is considered acceptable.) Besides, the date doesn't matter nearly as much as the sentiment.

[morguefile]

Combat troops were first sent to Vietnam in 1965... fifty years ago. That fifty-year milestone is now spurring an increasing number of demonstrations of appreciation around the country for veterans of that conflict. Later this month, Ft. Stewart, in south Georgia, is holding an official welcome home ceremony for Vietnam vets, with lots of pomp and circumstance, just like the ones they've been holding for soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Other bases around the country have already held such ceremonies, or will be doing so at various times throughout the year. And some governors, aided by organizations like the American Legion, are even providing certificates and medals. Like in Tuesday night's ceremony, where the state senator presenting the certificates and medallions said, It is never too late to say thank you.

That's Smarticus in the front row, third from the right. It was truly wonderful to see him and these other vets finally get some recognition, and to finally get that thank you and welcome home they all deserved. And as the wife, and sister, of Vietnam vets,  I hope you'll forgive me for saying it, but... It's about damned time.

Little-Known Facts About the Vietnam War

• Although many people think it was a war fought by draftees, a surprising 2/3 of the soldiers serving in Nam were actually volunteers, as opposed to WWII, when 2/3 of the soldiers were draftees.
• Although the average age of the soldier serving in Nam has often been reported as nineteen, it was actually 23.11. The youngest was sixteen, and the oldest, sixty-two. (The average age of those serving in WWII was twenty-six.)
• Thanks to the mobility provided by helicopters, the average infantryman serving in Vietnam saw 240 days of combat in a year. By comparison, a WWII infantryman serving four years in the South Pacific saw an average of forty days of combat. 
• Vietnam vets were the best-educated our nation had ever sent into combat. Seventy-nine percent had a high school education or better. 
• From 1965-1972, 8.7 million Americans served in the military. Approximately one-third of them spent some time in Vietnam. Of those, only about twelve percent were in combat.
• Of the many men and women who lost their lives in Vietnam, 86% were Caucasian, 12.5% were black, and 1.2% of some other race. 

[Sources: General William C. Westmoreland, Lt. Gen Barry R. McCaffrey, and the CACF (Combat Area Casualty File)]

Infantry duty is a rough business, even in peace time. [James Dunnigan]

[morguefile]

So is there someone YOU need to thank? Certainly, we all owe gratitude to our vets, but who else? A spouse? A parent? A sibling or friend? A child? A teacher or minister who encouraged you when you needed it the most? Somebody. Surely, there's somebody. Don't assume that person already knows how grateful you are. You've gotta say it. Or write it. Because, despite what that state senator said, sometimes it is too late, so don't put it off, especially not for fifty years. Say it today. 

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. [William Arthur Ward]

Among the things you can give and still keep are your word, a smile, and a grateful heart.  [Zig Ziglar]

Appreciation can make a day, even change a life. Your willingness to put it into words is all that is necessary.  [Margaret Cousins]

So, all of you... thank you. Thank you for taking the time to visit my blog, and thank you for your terrific comments. You guys rock.

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

P.S. For anyone reading this post on the afternoon of the 17th or later, I apologize for the unusual header picture. Because I won't be around tomorrow to change the header pic for Friday's post, I opted to remove the more appropriate picture of a vet leaning against the Vietnam Memorial, and to replace it with a pic that complements Friday's post.

Remembrance

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