Here I am, up on the porch railing, hanging the flag for Memorial Day. The flag was the gift of Marianne's father, who served in the US Navy on board the USS Thurston. "I was off shore at every major battle in World War Two," he liked to say, "wishing them well."
My own father was a radar man in the Army Air Force. His bomber was the Mild and Bitter, known among those who care about such things as the first bomber to fly one hundred missions against the Axis and one of only two to fly two hundred missions during the war. He didn't talk much about the war.
Both men are, like so many others, gone. Today, we remember them all.
Last Saturday's Poem du Jour . . .
. . . was Pablo Neruda's "Saddest Poem." You can find it here.