This is from an earlier post. I don’t think I can do better.

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, World War I ended. This day became known as “Armistice Day.” In 1921, an unknown World War I American soldier was buried in Arlington National Cemetery. Similarly, unknown soldiers had been buried in England at Westminster Abbey and at France at the Arc de Triomphe. All of these memorials took place on November 11th to commemorate the end of the “war to end all wars.”

In 1926, Congress resolved to officially call November 11th Armistice Day. Then in 1938, the day was named a national holiday. Soon afterwords war broke out in Europe and World War II began.

Soon after the end of World War II, a veteran of that war named Raymond Weeks organized “National Veterans Day” with a parade and festivities to honor all veterans. He chose to hold this on Armistice Day. Thus began annual observances of a day to honor all veterans not just the end of World War I. In 1954, Congress officially passed and President Eisenhower signed a bill proclaiming November 11 as Veteran’s Day. Due to his part in the creation of this national holiday, Raymond Weeks received the Presidential Citizens Medal from President Reagan in November 1982.

In 1968, Congress changed the national commemoration of Veterans Day to the fourth Monday in October. However, the significance of November 11 was such that the changed date never really got established. In 1978, Congress returned the observance of Veterans Day to its traditional date.

On Memorial Day, 1958, two unidentified soldiers were interred at Arlington National Cemetery having died in World War II and the Korean War. In 1984, an unknown soldier who died in the Vietnam War was placed next to the others; however, this last soldier was later exhumed, and he was identified as Air Force 1st Lieutenant Michael Joseph Blassie. His body was removed.

The unknown soldiers are symbolic of all Americans who gave their lives in all wars. To honor them, an Army honor guard keeps day and night vigil.

National ceremonies commemorating Veterans Day occur each year at the the memorial amphitheater built around the Tomb of the Unknowns. At 11 AM on November 11, a color guard representing all military services executes “Present Arms” at the tomb. Then the presidential wreath is laid upon the tomb. Finally, the bugler plays taps.

Each Veterans Day should be a time when Americans stop and remember the brave men and women who have risked their lives for the United States of America. As Dwight Eisenhower said, “…it is well for us to pause, to acknowledge our debt to those who paid so large a share of freedom’s price. As we stand here in grateful remembrance of the veterans’ contributions we renew our conviction of individual responsibility to live in ways that support the eternal truths upon which our Nation is founded, and from which flows all its strength and all its greatness.”

Last night was downright cold, in the high 30’s, but not quite a frost yet. Today is sunny and warmer and will get as high as 64°. I was out early, early anyway for me. I had PT again. My finger was sore at the start. Yesterday, let me hear a hooray!, I went to my uke lesson. It was a book which the group had been playing but was new to me. I hadn’t touched my uke in six weeks, but I think I did well except for some new 4 fingered chords. My thump strumming was just fine, but I did have to stop playing when my finger started hurting. During PT this morning, my finger started out painful and tender so we didn’t do a whole lot. The good news is my finger tip is straighter, less of a dip.

On my way back from Orleans I took the mid-cape instead of 6A. Along the sides of the road trees have dying leaves, browning leaves. The pines provide the only color, green. The highway is boring. One slow car slows down every car. Today, though, it was a fast ride until the exit before mine. I took it in stride.

When I was a kid, my favorite ride was along Route 1. Both sides of the road had so much to look at I craned my neck from one side of the car to the other. I remember motels with small cottages painted white. Restaurants lined the road. The ship, the leaning tower and one restaurant which looked like a Southern plantation are the ones I remember. There were places to stop for ice cream and other places offering rooms of chocolates. I remember cows in a field and a barn toward the back of the field. We sometimes stopped at roadside picnic tables to eat the lunch my mother had packed. We did bathroom stops. When I was much older, my mother and I often took Route 1 and stopped at neat places to shop. We filled the trunk with bags. We also stopped for lunch. These rides with my mother are favorite memories of mine.

The morning is chilly. It is sunny but only 51°. The wind is strong and makes the morning feel even colder. The leaves on the trees in the backyard are whipping about as they fall to the ground. I had decided to use today to shut down the deck, at least most of the deck, but I’m not sure now with the wind and all, maybe by afternoon.

Wearing the splint last night on my finger was a good thing. The finger didn’t hurt this morning. I have exercises to do each day, a couple of them are new and meant to straighten out the top of the finger. It tilts, perennially pointing.

Where I was growing up, my neighborhood was filled with kids. A few were my age but most were younger. My friend from up the street and I walked to and from school together. She lived in a duplex at the top of the hill. It was the same one where we used to live. I remember it had a landing going upstairs. I used to sit there and read. We moved from there down the hill to a bigger place, one with a third bedroom, after my sister was born. That’s the place I remember the most.

When I think back, I realize how wonderful a childhood I had. My parents were generous. I had everything a kid considered essential. I had a bike, a one time Christmas present, a wooden sled, roller skates with a key and white ice skates, the sort we all had. My parents were never restrictive. I went all over town and into the next towns on my bike. My parents always trusted me to tell them where I was going, and I did if I knew.

One Christmas, when I was older, I got what we all, my friends and I, had wanted for Christmas, a transistor radio. Mine was square. It was brown leather, actually fake leather, with rows of decorative holes in the front. It opened in the back to put in the batteries. I listened to it in my room. It was a bit heavy to carry, but I loved it. As I got older, the radios got smaller, the sort you could carry or put into a pocket, but they are not the ones I remember. It was that first brown leather radio. It was a marvel.

Today is a perfectly beautiful fall day in New England. The temperature is already 70°. The sun is bright with a sharpness of light. We had a short rain shower, and the leaves are still wet. The sun glints off them like jewel light. The breeze is strong enough to blow the wind chimes, and the sound sweetens the air.

I spent time in the backyard tracking down my shoe. It is brown so it sank and disappeared into the piles of brown leaves. I happened to have noticed quickly it was gone. I didn’t catch her stealing it, but I caught her with it right away. I chased her. She took off and dropped it.

I had PT this morning. I took the highway there but the long way home on 6A. I rubbernecked. I took my time. I stopped to look at the marsh in its fall colors. I wished I had cash to shop the wagons on the sides of the road selling flowers and vegetables. Next time I thought.

My finger now has a splint to wear at night. It will protect the finger and straighten the tip which bends. By the time I am scheduled to be finished with PT, it will be three months of this finger healing. I didn’t expect that. I have one more visit with the surgeon to schedule in two weeks.

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I finished, folded and brought upstairs three loads of laundry. Only a few bed linens are left. I vacuumed the kitchen, den and hall. I dusted places seldom dusted. I climbed the step ladder to get there. I cleaned Jack’s room. When I finished, there should have been applause.

When I lived in Ghana, Thomas cleaned my house and did my laundry which had to be hand-washed. He used two buckets. One was wash and the other rinse. I had a clothes line strung across the backyard. The air was so hot clothes dried in a short time. Thomas used a charcoal iron on my dresses. My house was small. It had four rooms inside: the living room, the dining room where the fridge and a table with a couple of chairs were, my bedroom and a spare room with a desk. My backyard was concrete. On one side was the toilet room and the shower room. The kitchen, seldom used as we couldn’t get gas for the stove, and Thomas’ room were on another side. A wall on the third side separated my side of the duplex from the other side. My water came from an outside spigot.

I loved my house. It was the last house before the back gate. In the field outside my walls, there were compounds where farmers and their families lived. They grew millet. Beyond the back gate was the pathway to town. On market day I could see women carrying their wares on their heads heading to the market. They were the entrepreneurs.

When I reflect on my life in Ghana, I remember the joy it gave me.

That I am sitting here inside writing Coffee is a miracle. The most beautiful fall Saturday awaits me. Already it is 70°. An every now and then breeze shakes the dead leaves on the oak tree outside my window and sways the tops of the tallest trees. A day like today is one of the best reasons to live in New England.

My first cup of coffee in the morning is a delight. The first sip is so satisfyingly tasty I usually yum out loud. This morning I made toast though making toast seems a silly description, as if I did the work instead of the toaster oven. All I did was put the bread in, turn on the toaster oven and wait. Even then the toast nearly burned as I went outside and got lost in the morning.

The dogs have been in the yard most of the day. They come inside for water, their tongues hanging, then stand by the snack cabinet looking hopefully at me. Most of the time I give in and they each get a biscuit. They then go back outside having satisfied hunger and thirst.

I’m going out to get animal food. The dogs need everything. Jack needs all but new litter. That came yesterday. I think after Agway I’m going to take a ride, maybe even stop for lunch, treat myself. I haven’t done that in a while.

Lately I have been living in a Hallmark world where every house is decorated inside and out. Lights are ablaze. Decorated sugar cookies sit on the counter. Snow falls gently. High school sweethearts reunite or strangers fall in love. Princes from made-up countries find true love with a commoner. They dance the night away at a Christmas Eve ball. They end the evening with a kiss.

My socks have holes at the toes. My mother would be horrified. She thought socks and underwear had to be intact. I disappointed her. I always said I could never throw away socks if only my toes were exposed. Nobody saw them anyway. As for my underwear, the same rule applies, and I never gave credence to the thought of an accident. When I get dressed today, I’m going to fold over the tops of my socks before I put them into my shoes. The lumps never bother me.

My lateness is because I had my first physical therapy for my finger today. Most of the session was measuring the finger and getting a baseline. I also got a couple of exercises to do every day to help with movement. The therapist said the swelling is from the tendon which had been damaged. I am now scheduled for two sessions a week for six weeks.

Today is closer to early summer than late fall. It is 70°. The light is brilliant. The breeze is slight, a leaf rustler. My flannel shirt was too warm. On the road, I opened the car windows just to have warm fresh air, sweet fresh air. It was a delightful ride.

Weird thing on my way to Orleans: in the middle of nowhere was a porta-potty, a blue one standing tall in front of pine trees. There was no road repair or rest area near it. I thought perhaps it was another incarnation of the Tardis. I should have stopped to check.

At the rehab spot, the woman checking me in asked if she could tell me something. I nodded. She told me that I had made her a reader, that she had taken my science fiction class and fell in love with Dune. After that she read all of the Dune novels then just kept reading. I can’t think of a higher compliment.

My grandfather smoked a pipe. In the sunroom of his house, on the table, was a pipe holder. It was round and swiveled open. He had five or six pipes resting beside each other. I remember the smell of tobacco.

My grandmother, the one who lived with the pipe smoker, smelled of flowers, mostly lavender. She was Edith Bunker before there was an Edith Bunker. She was tall, taller than my grandfather, and walked with a stoop. She always wore a bibbed apron. She cooked and took care of the house. She shopped up the street at the First National. She always used a cart and pulled it behind her. I doubt my grandmother ever voted, but if she did, I think my grandfather told her how she should vote. When I was in the Peace Corps, my grandmother sent me a few letters, in the US version of an aerogram. She always tucked in a dollar though the directions were not to put anything in the aerogram. I was glad for the dollar.

My dance card is empty.

My computer died on Tuesday morning which is why the day’s entry was sparse. The screen was black. The loading slide loaded half way then stopped then reloaded half way then stopped and that happened on and on, over and over. I held back the tears. I looked on my iPad for possible solutions. I tried them all including the one which suggested I turn off the machine, hold on to at least seven keys then turn the computer back on. The only result of that fiasco was a sore hand and a black screen. I turned off my computer and wrote the day’s musings on my iPad. I couldn’t get the picture or the music to load so I stopped with my musings and left the computer to die with dignity.

I knew I didn’t have the money for a new Mac and just couldn’t imagine going back to Windows. I decided to work with my iPad. I wasn’t happy. The computer sat there in front of me taunting me. I covered it with a shroud. Okay, I didn’t, but I wanted to. On Wednesday afternoon my sister asked me if I’d tried again. I hadn’t but decided to give it the old college try. I flexed all the tips of my fingers anticipating. I turned it on. I heard music, the songs of angels. My computer was back!

I’m confused about the season. It is too warm for winter, but many trees are bare, and Halloween has passed. A shirt is warm enough for outside. My e-mailbox is filled with recipes for Thanksgiving. I’m dreaming of turkey especially after I keep seeing wild turkeys wandering. They are a sign, an omen.

Tomorrow I start finger therapy. My finger is looking good, at least by comparison. It is no longer encircled with an around the finger scab from the stitches which have almost disappeared; however, the knuckle and the finger above it are ugly, still misshapen and swollen. It gave me a memory. A science fiction film came to mind, one about an evil hand.

Last night while I was lying in bed, I thought I heard voices. I lifted my head off the pillow and listened more intently, but I didn’t hear a thing. I turned off the light and went to sleep. This morning I came downstairs and the TV was on. I hadn’t turned it off when I went upstairs to bed. That was strange, but I then remembered last night. I went to the back door to let the dogs in from the yard and went right to bed through the dining room. I didn’t think about the den and the TV. Either that or I am going a bit crazy.

When I was a kid, I loved the sound of the radiators. There was one on the wall at the foot of my bed. I could hear it gurgle and hiss. It sang me to sleep at night. When I was cold, I used to put my feet under the radiator until they either got warm or started to burn. My mittens went on top of the radiator when they were wet and covered with snow. My wet shoes went under the radiator to dry. This house has hot air. I can hear the blowing when the heat is on. I have a quieter house but nowhere to put my mittens.

Today is an ugly day. It rained during the night and will continue to rain on and off all day, but it is warmish at 61°. I love rainy days, and I love the lamps lit on rainy days. They shine through the gloom, through the darkness the rain brings. They give me a sense of warmth.

I hope to start playing my uke again tomorrow, my usual lesson day. I haven’t touched my uke in 5 weeks. I’ve lost my callouses. With the pins gone, I think I can strum with my thumb until my pointer finger is less swollen and can bend better.

The dogs are napping upstairs on my bed. I guess they love the comfort. I feel ignored.

Today is not a pretty day. The humidity is 92%. The clouds are grey, a lightish grey. Every now and then there is a breeze. I can see brown leaves at the ends of oak tree branches. I can also see some red leaves. I have nowhere I need to go today. I have no reason to get dressed. I’ll stay in my comfies.

When I was a kid, school was misery on Halloween. I was so excited for trick or treating I was distracted, paying only half attention to the lessons and the nun at the front of the room. I could hear every movement of the second hand, every click minute by minute. Time did not pass. The watched clock never moved.

When school was finally over, dismissal was noisy and loud. I went out the back door, the little used door. It gave me an advantage for the run home. Once there, I got out of my school clothes into my play clothes and went back to clock watching. I’d try to distract myself with a little TV. I’d bolt down my supper then beg my mother to let me leave to go trick or treating. It is too early was always her answer.

We’d get into our costumes and sit on the couch bag in hand. Finally we had out first trick or treater, and my mother would let us loose. When I was young, my brother and I used to go together. We’d start in our neighborhood and branch out from there. We went far afield. I remember the house with the columns across from the First National where they gave out nickel bars. We never missed that house. When there were few trick or treaters left and the outside lights had gone dark, we’d start for home. I remember the walk up Pomeworth Street and the sounds of our feet hitting the sidewalk pavement. I remember it was dark.

We got comfortable at home, put our candy in individual bowls and started the big swap, candy for candy, what we didn’t like swapped for what we did like. We’d go through our bowls. We had apples. Some of them had coins, a few pennies and a rare nickel. The money we kept. The apples we gave to my mother. I was never a fan of popcorn balls. We gave those to my mother too. We ate as much candy as we could before my mother put a stop to it. The evening had taken only an instant compared to the passing of the day. We stayed up later because we had no school the next day, All Saint’s Day. We did have to go to church though.

I stashed my bowl under my bed. It stayed there until it was empty. That was the unofficial end of Halloween.