After I rose this morning, pattered to the kitchen, and had my finger crooked about the handle of a steaming cup of Starbucks home brew, I sat back in a comfy chair and reflected on yesterday. I have an idea there may have been a smile on my face. I knew full well the holiday was over, but somehow I just didn’t want to let it go. Being the sensible person I am, fully understanding that yesterdays cannot be pulled up again, but remembering that I am a writer and that writers are known to take liberties and that it has been some time since I wrote for this column, I now share my musings of Memorial Day 2006. Perhaps–just perhaps–I may pull back yesterday.
I cried through the day. Dear friends were coming around 5:00 for a cook-out, as were my daughter Rebecca and her son, Nathaniel. I wanted everything to be perfect of course, so I vacuumed, dusted, swished around in the bathrooms, and did food preparation. I began gathering decorations and decided on tablecloths, placemats and dishes. I was crying all the time.
Crying? Yes, crying. For early on, before the party preparations had begun, I wrote a post for my other blog, and it had included touching material about war, about our country, about our troops and about honor. I cried as I wrote it. All day long, as I fussed with my party, the radio played similar stories–stories that tore at my heart, my head and my emotions. Occasionally, I heard the sound of Taps wafting from the speakers. I cried. I was happy, but I cried.
The cookout was perfect, our friends and family as charming as ever. Only once did I cry during the party, but I think no one saw. It was as Rebecca told of early in the day taking nine-year-old Nathaniel to a national cemetery to help him understand the significance of Memorial Day. They bought a small flag to place on someone’s grave, and as they drove through the cemetery, their attention was directed to a group of 12 or so people who were having a picnic. They had set up lawn chairs and were happily digging into picnic baskets and coolers. On Memorial Day 2006, one family chose to be near their loved one, gone now, but remembered and memorialized as having served well his country.
It grew cold on the deck where we partied yesterday, so we moved inside for the grand finale of fine vanilla ice cream, sugared strawberries and a single excellent cooky. We spoke of friends, funny stories, of God, of our country, and of our troops.
I’m through crying for awhile, I think.
Tags: Memorial+Day, honor, troops, God, America,
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