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“When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?”

November 11, 2012

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.”

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“The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.”

November 10, 2012

The day is pretty with sun and a blue sky. It’s also a bit chilly at 48˚.  A breeze is blowing. Not many leaves are left on the trees after the nor’easter. My lawn has disappeared again. I noticed tattered prayer flags from my backyard are hanging off one of the branches near the deck. They are the worse for wear.

Yesterday was dump day, movie day and get pet food day. Whew, it was a busy day. I’m still recovering.

My town where I grew up had a dump for things too big for the trucks. It was filled with piles of junk. I don’t ever remember my father going to the dump. We had curb-side trash pick-up, and my dad hauled out the barrels every week and hauled them back in when he got home from work. When we moved to the Cape, my dad had to go to the dump every week as there was no trash pick-up. He really liked his dump runs and tried to cajole one of us into going with him as if it were a treat, a stop for ice cream. The dump in those days was raucous from the sounds of the sea gulls flying all around the trash heaps. You could even see those heaps from the highway and the birds circling around them.

Dumps now are civilized with recycle and trash bins. No more seagulls. They have to look elsewhere for a tidbit. My father wouldn’t enjoy the dump at all. The excitement is gone.

The paper mentioned that movies are probably on their way out usurped by short attention spans and television. The films which make money usually have the shallowest depths. The article suggested that Gone with the Wind wouldn’t make it with today’s audiences: too long. I’d also add it has no “hilarious” drunken scenes, not a single vampire or slasher and no sex.

I am an anachronism, and I don’t care. Actually I’m rather proud of that!

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“But I’m really enjoying my retirement. I get to sleep in every day. I do crossword puzzles and eat cake.”

November 9, 2012

The weatherman said sun today, and he was mostly right. The sun has appeared every now and then with a cloudy blue sky as its backdrop. The wind and rain stayed around most of yesterday into last night, but I still went and filled the deck bird feeders out of a sense of guilt. I got wet. Warm weather is coming this weekend.

When I was a little kid, I never thought much about the week or even the day ahead. The only time I counted days was before Christmas. Life was in the present. Seldom did we ever make plans for the weekend or even the next day. It wasn’t until I was older, in high school, that the weekends took on importance. We made plans. Sometimes we went bowling or to a movie or even just hung around together. If the school had a Friday dance, we went. It was always, as most of them were, in the gym. Life was seldom complicated.

It seems all my life weekends have been the best part of the week. I got to sleep late, no alarm jarred me out of bed. Sometimes I had plans, especially when I was younger and still working. Friday nights we’d hit happy hour. Those were the days of free food with your drinks. Saturday I did my chores and went shopping, sometimes just for groceries or other times because I wanted to shop at fun stores and antique shops. It was my day, and I could do whatever I wanted. Sunday was change bed, do laundry, go to the dump, correct papers and prepare classes day. It was a warm-up for Monday.

When I was in Ghana, every day was a neat day, even the weekdays. I was always up early, never even needed an alarm. My world was always interesting. I’d sit on my porch before teaching and watch women carrying baskets on their heads as they walked to market and see small children going to school and stopping to say hello as they walked by my house. I’d watch lizards darting around and see chickens and goats wandering the school compound. Teaching too was a bit of an adventure. It was figuring out the best approach so my students could understand the intricacies of English grammar. Though I didn’t teach weekends, I lived on school grounds so I was always involved with school and my students often visited. I never minded the blurring of weekends and weekdays.

Since I’ve retired, I tell people every day is a Saturday. I can do whatever I want. Today I’m going to see a movie. Today I’m also going to the dump as I didn’t brave the elements yesterday. Weekends have lost their importance. Now Saturdays and Sundays are just days in the week like any other days. I’m happy.

 

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“A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.”

November 8, 2012

The storm started yesterday afternoon and it was tremendous. The wind blew gusts as high as 60 MPH, stronger than Sandy had brought. I could hear the relentless, howling wind. Branches and tree trunks were blowing and bending. Rain fell all night into this morning but now has just about stopped. The sky is still gray but getting lighter. The wind is still blowing but seems calm in comparison. I watched the weather at 11 last night. The Cape was the only part of the state getting rain. The rest of the state was getting snow, in a variety of amounts. We were 10˚ warmer than Boston.

My caller ID identified two calls this morning as political. The first call, before 8, woke me up. I didn’t answer that one or the second one from the same number. Later, I still a little sleuthing and found out the number has been reported repeatedly. It is not political. It is spamming. I have a feeling they’ll be persistent. If this were a plot in a futuristic science fiction novel, I’d send a tiny shock through the phones lines to the caller who’d then cross my name off the list.

Today is normally dump day, but we will wait until tomorrow unless the rain and the wind stop. The dump on a windy day is like the Russian steppes in the middle of winter. Gracie will just have to be content with a trip to Agway where she is a welcomed customer.

The bird feeders need filling so I’ll brave the elements later and go out on the deck. I noticed the furniture covers are weighted down in the middle with rainwater. They’ll have to be emptied. In the winter, those pockets of water freeze. Sometimes I lift a huge disk of ice off the cover and toss it over the deck rail. Luckily we’re not there yet.

Without the political hoopla and the anticipation of waiting to hear the results, the day is a bit humdrum. President Clinton hasn’t called again.

 

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“To win the people, always cook them some savoury that pleases them.”

November 5, 2012

Today does not encourage going outside. It is cold, rainy and dreary. All I can see through my window are drips falling from the roof edges and the brown leaves of the oak tree. I’m declaring today a stay in my cozies day, a day to be at home dry, warm and comfy. I must have sensed the sort of day it is as I didn’t wake up until after 10. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late.

Winter has reared its ugly head. The nights are downright cold. Tonight is predicted to be 30˚, and during the rest of the week nights will be much the same. That’s coat weather. That’s down comforter weather.

A nor’easter is predicted for Wednesday into Thursday. The storm will bring heavy rain and wind with gusts up to 40 miles per hour. The wind, of course, will be strongest at the coast causing beach erosion and flooding. It is beginning to seem as if we are all bit players in a science fiction movie about multiple disasters.

After tomorrow all those political ads will be gone, and I’ll answer my phone again which seems like the perfect reason for a celebration, a party, one with balloons, food, alcohol and revelers and not a single candidate. I suspect most of us were oblivious to those ads as we had long ago made up our minds as to which presidential candidate will get our vote. Some simply vote the party with no thoughts about policy or performance. Some vote not for but against a candidate. Others have crazy reasons to vote one or the other, reasons often based on misrepresentations or outright falsehoods as the truth often goes by the wayside in a fight for votes. If you are still on the proverbial fence, I have come up with the perfect reason for you to check your ballot for Mr. Obama and not Mr. Romney. Robocalls have been made for both candidates by celebrities. Pat Boone is on the line for Mitt Romney, not especially enticing. Matt Damon is the Obama man. No contest there!

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“I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadow less like silence, listening To silence.”

November 4, 2012

As fall days go, this one is just about perfect. The sun is sharply bright, the air is clear and it’s chilly, around 45˚ chilly, not quite coat weather yet. When I went to get the papers early this morning, I could smell fall. I could smell the fallen leaves and the crispness of the air. Someone had a fire going. I noticed the yellow maple leaves had fallen on the grass in a pattern drawn from a painter’s palette. I stood and took in my little bit more of my world then grabbed the papers and went inside to a house filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. My senses were in overdrive.

Gracie got loose this morning. We had just gotten back from breakfast and were on our way into the house when she pulled her head out of her collar and took off down the street. She did me the courtesy of looking back at me as she ran. I called her and was totally ignored. I took out my phone and called my friends, but no one was home. Then I saw my neighbor moving his car and asked him to call Gracie. She, of course, went right to him, gave him a hug and a bunch of kisses. He held on to a wiggly, happy Gracie until I could put her collar back on. Right now she is sleeping, resting from her exploits.

Sunday has a different feel about it than any other day of the week. Saturday was the day for errands so Sunday is a slow day, a day for taking time. On Sunday mornings, breakfast with my friend is a ritual for us. It is when we catch up with one another. Our breakfast is slow by intent and always has plenty of time for an extra cup of coffee. When I come home, I finish reading the papers. The crossword puzzle is saved for last, and I keep going back to it during the day until I finally give up. A nap is inevitable. Tonight my friends and I will play a few games, eat some appetizers as we play then we’ll watch The Amazing Race together.

I love traditions and rituals. They are connections over time, and they are to be cherished even in such simplicity as a morning breakfast or a game of cards.

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“Without music, life would be a mistake.”

November 3, 2012

Thank God for the newspaper. This morning I learned a ram is a male sheep, and that tidbit of knowledge has cleared up the confusion I’ve lived with for years. Is that ewe or isn’t it ewe? I suppose you’re wondering why a ram in the paper, especially the front page. It seems he escaped from the Islamic Center where he was scheduled to be sacrificed for Eid al-Adha on October 26th. The ram, on the run for two weeks, has been seen in several places but has evaded capture. Be on the lookout for a ram with brown fleece and a black face. Go ram!!

Don’t forget to turn your clocks back tonight, nothing worse than being an hour early. If you are like my friend’s aunt, you’ll stay up until 2 a.m., the official time to turn them back.

The day is dismal: cloudy, damp and cold. Tonight will be in the low 40’s but the rest of the week will have nights in the 30’s. That sounds to me as if fall is hurrying away with winter at its heels. The dog doesn’t linger outside much at night any more.

I survived yesterday.

My mother had singers and songs she loved, and she played them on the hi-fi while she was doing housework. The songs stuck in my head, and I, without realizing it, learned all the words. In a way, I carry on her music. My sister, when her kids were growing up, played the music she loves and the same thing which happened to me happened to her kids. They learned her music. Her kids are fans of Creedence, Dylan and CSN&Y among others. In a way, they carry on her music, and mine as well. I wonder, though, what will happen to my mother’s music. My nephews and niece don’t know Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Jo Stafford or Johnny Mathis, and I don’t hear those singers played much on the radio. The oldies stations I listen to play music from the 60’s on up through the 80’s. My mother’s music is fading, disappearing from the airwaves, but it stays in my head. Johnny Mathis and The Twelfth of Never still gets me every time.

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“I’d rather be a little weird than all boring.”

November 2, 2012

The morning is nearly gone. I slept in and then took my time reading the papers and checking my e-mail. All of it was a delaying tactic as I knew my mind was empty, devoid of original thought. The idea of filling a blank page was scary. What’s to say? The problem is I’m bored. I even thought about going through the cabinet hunting for my apple slicer, corer. The whole absurd idea of cabinet foraging is indicative of how far gone I must be. I remember summers when I’d whine to my mother there was nothing to do in the whole town. This is one of those moments. Sure, Gracie and I could go for a ride but what’s to see?  Maybe we should shop: the use of maybe tells you how really bored I am. Never do I use maybe and shopping in the same sentence. I suppose I should change my bed. Whoopee!! (which must be read with a tone oozing sarcasm). Maybe I should read those catalogs: the pile is high enough to be dangerous should it fall on one of the cats, but I know that won’t work. I’ve tried it before. The catalog ends up on the floor as soon as boring rears its ugly head. The house is dusty and, given my mood, will stay dusty. Cleaning is never the solution for anything.

My landscaper cleared the yard yesterday. I can see my grass, the driveway and the deck. All the leaves and pine needles are gone. I watched out the front door. Looking back, I realize that was the first indication of creeping ennui. Leaf raking and blowing will never be interesting yet I stood and watched.

TV last night sent me reading. I’ve started Stolen Prey, a John Sandford. I read three pages then put it down. Even mass murder couldn’t hold my interest.

The last two Walking Dead programs are on my DVR. I suppose I could watch zombies eating live people and live people killing zombies. Such fun is almost overwhelming to contemplate.

Well, this is it. I’ve finally run out of words.

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“There is something haunting in the light of the moon.”

October 31, 2012

I know you didn’t expect this to be here today, it being Wednesday and all, but it’s Halloween so I just had to post. I figure I’ll take tomorrow off instead of today.

I never understood why we were forced to go to school on Halloween. It always seemed like some sort of a sacrilege. I’d be at my desk during silent reading, but the book was always the last thing on my mind. I’d be daydreaming instead. I’d be thinking about nighttime and trick or treating. During recess that’s all we talked about: what we’d be wearing, what houses gave the best candy and how late we could stay out. The clock seemed never to move that day.

At home, we wanted to get dressed, but my mother always made us wait. She’d tell us it was way too early. She’s even make us eat dinner. I remember it took forever to get dark. I’d look out the window hoping to see a trick or treater so I could say to my mother, “See, I told you so,” but finally she’d tell us to go put on our costumes. We’d run upstairs and be dressed in a heartbeat. Our costumes were usually homemade as we couldn’t afford the ones from Woolworth’s, but we never minded. My mother put together great costumes, and she always bought us new masks. We were hobos with black beards on our faces, ghosts in sheets or cowboys and cowgirls. My sisters tended toward ballerinas: they were far prissier than I. We’d start out in our own neighborhood then branch out to the nearby streets. Our bags would get heavier and heavier, but we didn’t stop. We’d head further afield. The house across from the First National gave out nickel candy bars. That was always an important stop. We hated apples except for the one or two with coins stuck in them. Back then, we’d get lots of small bags decorated with witches and pumpkins. The tops were twisted so the candy wouldn’t fall out. They’d be filled with candy corn or M&M’s. As the night got older, fewer kids were about and the outside lights were turned off so we knew when it was time to head home. I remember walking on sidewalks filled with leaves and how dark it was except under the street lights, but we were never scared. We just took our time and munched candy all the way home.

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“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”

October 30, 2012

All is well here. Sandy left a mess of pine needles, leaves and branches but no damage. Even the lights stayed on, a phenomenon in these parts, though they did flicker a bit to give us pause. During the day I went out a couple of times to pick blown covers off the deck and put them back over the furniture. A light rain was falling so I had to be careful walking on the slick leaves covering the deck. The backyard has the most fallen branches. Half of the front lawn has disappeared under a sea of brown pine needles. Sort of pretty in its own way.

It was near the water where Sandy was the most devastating. The ocean was mighty with huge, fierce white-capped waves, and they, combined with Sandy’s wind and the high tide, dragged buildings into the sea and flooded roads. The paper this morning is filled with pictures of beached boats, damaged buildings and fallen trees. For the second day in a row, there is no school.

I went down my friends’ house last night for dinner and games. Mine was the only car on the road. I took the long way around and circled the neighborhood to check it out but saw nothing. Later, as my friends and I were sitting at the table, we heard the rain. The drizzle of the day had given way to a heavy rain. I got soaked just going to and from the houses and the car.

I awoke this morning to sun, but it has gone. The day has darkened, and the sky is filled with clouds. Rain is in the forecast. I’m okay with that as I have nowhere I need to be and nothing I need to do.

Yesterday I battened down the hatches and on the deck took down or put away anything which the wind could carry. The breakable bird feeders were the first taken down. The covered umbrella was leaned against the rail so the wind wouldn’t smash it to the deck. Later, I saw the bird feeders which hang off the trees swaying high back and forth so I went outside and took them down. This morning all of them were hung back on the tree branches.

The one thing I most worried most about was my palm tree. It is tall at 6 feet and too awkward to move so bringing it inside was not a possibility. Yesterday was dark enough to trigger the timer so the palm tree was lit all day and well into the night. Before the storm hit, I got a bungee cord and nailed one end to the deck then wrapped the other end around the thin, metal trunk of the palm tree. I checked the tree several times, and it swayed but never fell. My palm tree has survived a hurricane.

We were lucky yesterday.

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