“Our flag does not fly because the wind moves it. It flies with the last breath of each soldier who died protecting it.”
Some randomness to close out May…this year is quickly slipping away…
1.) A few weeks ago, Motor Man and I took a day trip to the South Boston area of Virginia. I found this “gate” made of old tobacco wood at an antique shop and bought it, not knowing what I’d actually do with it. I think we found a good spot. Thanks, Motor Man, for fixing it in place for me.
2.) As a lover of bacon (and ham), this recent Bizzaro comic made me chuckle.
3.) Yesterday’s sunrise. I hadn’t been up but a few minutes, opened all the curtains, and that big orange ball caught my eye.
4.) Hoping for a pretty day tomorrow, so I can stop in at our local Farmers Market. There are two vendors that I particularly enjoy: one is a couple who sells beautiful cut flower bouquets. The other is operated by twin sisters, a bit older than me, who make and sell handmade jewelry. My friend, Donna, and I affectionately refer to them as “the Baldwin sisters” (The Waltons tv show), only these sisters sell jewelry, rather than “the recipe”. These are three of the necklaces I’ve purchased from them.
5.) Last Sunday, the weather cooperated, and we were able to have our Memorial Service on the grounds of “the old brick church; such a sacred, special spot for so many of us who live in the area.
And may we all pause to remember the real reason for the holiday.
~These Days Of Mine~
This is a post I’ve been wanting to write for quite a while, and today, the start of the Memorial Day weekend, seems a good time.
You may recall seeing this photo here before. That’s my grandmother with two of her six sons. Although she’s embracing both of them, the one she’s leaning toward is Bennie. He had been drafted, and I’m told that this was taken the day before he left to fight in WWII. That worry, known only by a mother, is so evident on her face.
Thankfully, Uncle Bennie returned from the war (after being held at and escaping from a prison camp) and lived a long, happy life, passing away in 2005, at the age of 84.
But, what I’ve been wanting to post about are some family mementos from Uncle Bennie’s time in the Army. My mom saved three postcards he sent to her and my dad during his days at boot camp. I recall seeing these as a young child, but never appreciated them until years later.
When I was very young, I asked my mom what this postcard meant: why did the soldier lose his taste for potatoes once he joined the army? This one is postmarked January 9, 1943, and was mailed from Paris, Texas.
I think Mom had to explain this next postcard to me, too, since, at that time, I’d never heard feet referred to as “dogs”. The postmark on this one is July 13, 1943, from Camp Maxey, Texas.
Although this next one is certainly a cute card, what makes it really special to me is not only the message on the back, but more importantly, how it is addressed.
My dad’s nickname was “Bow” (or “Bo”, or “Beau”), but I have no idea how he earned that nickname. No one I ever asked knew the answer. But it’s remarkable to me that, in 1943, a postcard sent from Texas, addressed to “Bow” (no last name) with the town name misspelled (it’s Bacon’s Castle, not Baker’s Castle) made it to its destination. And if you’re wondering, the “Donnie” he referred to in the message was my mom. I can’t quite make out the postmark date, but it appears to be November 13, 1943, and arrived in Bacon’s Castle on November 20.
Memorial Day was originally designated as a holiday to remember those who died while in service to their country. While being grateful for them, I’m also thankful that my family (especially my grandmother) didn’t have to know that sorrow.
~These Days Of Mine~
Another Friday, so let’s see if I can find some random thoughts.
1. In honor of Memorial Day. I took this picture during a recent sunset; I love the flag flying from the old boat in our side yard.
2.) Gypsy was ready for some tummy rubs when I arrived at the shop Monday morning. It always amazes me when I catch a photo of a kitty tongue in action.
3.) Every sunrise is different. The sun barely found an opening to shine through on this particular morning.
4.) On a recent antiquing trip, I asked the shop owner if I could take a picture of a vintage photograph. I think you’ll see why. The resemblance to Lily, one of our great nieces, is uncanny. In fact, I saw Lily’s grandmother last week, and she said she showed the old picture to Lily and asked who it was. Lily replied: “Me”.
5.) Wherever your Memorial Day travels take you, I hope have a safe weekend. Motor Man and I are cooking up a little adventure: details next week. May we all remember the true reason for the holiday.
~These Days Of Mine~
On this Memorial Day, I’m sharing a story I saw on AOL Top News yesterday.
In 2010, Susan Wells, a New York woman, started a program called Stars For Our Troops. Stars from tattered and torn American flags are washed and pressed. The stars are then given to members of the military and veterans along with this note:
“I am part of our American flag that has flown over a home in the U.S.A. I can no longer fly. The sun and winds have caused me to become tattered and torn. Please carry me as a reminder that you are not forgotten.”
There’s some controversy as to whether or not it’s appropriate to cut the flag, but Susan’s program has gained support, and there are several “branches” of the program throughout the country.
I like this idea. Although I know that burning a torn flag is the proper way to dispose of it, I think it’s nice that part of the flag is being repurposed as a small token of thanks to the members of our military. As my American flags must be “retired”, I plan to send them off to be used in this way.
Here’s the link to the web-site:
The American flag, Old Glory, standing tall and flying free over American soil for 228 years is the symbol of our beloved country. It is recognized from near and afar, and many lives have been lost defending it. ~ Jeff Miller
And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died
who gave that right to me.