Memorial Day is a day for reflection and a day to give thanks. It is a day for honoring the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. military, those who gave, as President Lincoln once said, their “last full measure of devotion.” This is my annual tribute. 

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. It originated during the American Civi War when citizens placed flowers on the graves of those who had been killed in battle. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day. It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860′s tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in Gen Logan giving his official proclamation in 1868. It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

Today is brilliant. It is the best of late spring. The sun is squint your eyes bright. The sky is the perfect blue, an iris blue. The wind is slight. The air is redolent of the flowers booming in the front gardens. Birds are still greeting the morning and flitting from bush to bush. The dogs are staying outside in the sun, lying on the deck for maximum exposure.

An injury update: my finger is swollen mostly from the knuckle down. I can bend it only a little, but that’s an improvement. It doesn’t hurt unless I use it without thinking. My leg, though, is worse. It is not a pretty sight. The inside of my foot and all my toes are black and blue. The shin hurts when I move and when I don’t move. Nala has no injuries.

When I ponder my past, I remember amazing places. The first one, way way back, is when we went to Niagara Falls. It was the first time we stayed in a motel, and we ate out every meal. After we parked and settled in, we walked to the falls. The roar of the water was all around us. Rainbows were reflected off the bottom of the falls, off the mist. We watched for a while then moved on. Our next stop was a locker room where we donned ugly yellow slickers and walked under the falls. We were surrounded by water so loud we couldn’t be heard. My favorite story of the trip involved my father. We went into Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. He went up to the cashier’s window and asked for 4 adults and 2 children. He got no response so he asked again. A couple of old ladies were sitting on a bench near the cashier’s window, and they were laughing. My father asked one more time, louder and brusquely. That was when he noticed the old ladies laughing. He looked at the cashier and found out she was wax.

Other amazing places included being at the equator and standing on a dirt spot with a line, straddling that line and standing in two hemispheres at the same time. Macchu Pichu was magnificent. Christ of Corcovado Mountain was massive. His arms stretch almost a hundred feet. From that mountain all of Rio stretches out below including Sugar Loaf and the two beaches, Copacabana and Ipanema. I felt small standing there.

I loved the train ride across the canal. The railroad bridge was lowered over the water. I tried to look at both sides of the bridge at the same time. I was struck by the water, the shoreline and that bridge.

The trains in South America are highlights in my memory drawer of amazing rides. Taking the train to Guayaquil took my breath away. The highlight was the switchback. In Peru, the Cusco to Puno ride was spectacular. It was an every day rail service back then, no luxury train. The ride took about 10 hours. We stopped for a couple of nights in Puno then took a hovercraft across Lake Titicaca to the altiplano of Bolivia.

I took the train in Ghana every chance I got. We whizzed passed small villages, people walking along the sides of the tracks and goats, always goats, just lying by the tracks. At every stop, women offered food for sale at the windows. I always bought fresh bread and bush meat.

I have only the dump on my dance card for today so I’m thinking a deck day with a cold drink, a good book and my two dogs.