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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.
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2 comments:
I think you forgot the link for Pablo Neruda.
Thank you, yes I did. It's corrected now.
The Memorial Day service in Gorgas Park,here in Roxborough, was as always moving. Marianne and I have been going to the services for over a quarter of a century. Back then, there weren't a lot of people attending. But we both had fathers who served in WWII and so understood that the day had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with individual human beings who died in the service of their country.
I could go on and on, but I won't.
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