On May 5, 1868, Logan declared in General Order No. 11 that

The 30th of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land. In this observance no form of ceremony is prescribed, but posts and comrades will in their own way arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.

I've been looking without success for pictures I took as a girl on "Decoration Day" in Columbia NJ. Pretty much the whole town would turn out at the little cemetery across from our small church. Everyone would be carrying small flags, the American Legion would be represented, guns would be shot off, there would be some music, some singing, a prayer or two, and a great deal of respect paid to the graves of those lost in war. It was not a day of picnics, family gathering nor any particular celebration. It was simply a Remembering Day. A day of recalling those lost, now buried at the heart of their hometown.

Everyone would wear a poppy. And to this day, if I see an older gentleman (or sometimes the Ladies' Auxillary) selling those little paper blooms, I am compelled, in their honor, to fork over a dollar.

Don't forget what this day is all about.

Celebrate your family. Enjoy a day off. But say a prayer, and keep a moment just for those who, in obedience, in faithfulness, in dedication, laid down their lives.

Happy Birthday First Born 5-23-10

It's our first born's 44th birthday. He was one of our very first blessings as we started life together. A tiny little crying bundle - 5 1/2 lbs of colic and we loved him so. We still do, tho' that 5 1/2 lbs has changed a lot...and we don't often see him cry....but he is one of the most beautiful souls, he is gentle and kind and loving - happy birthday our first born...we love you so.
Note: this is long, and probably not of interest to most outside the family...but we hope he will enjoy it.

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My Twist on Turk's Miniature Rondo

True to my word, I am recording as often as I dare in order to "toughen" myself up to performance. It's amazing how much better I play when all alone and no camera running. However, I am continuing to make progress....tho' I'm quite sure this isn't how the composer meant it to sound!

Playing Hookey

Two high pressure weeks at work. Tons to catch up on at home. Saturday lies before you, stretching out with so much to do. Feeling that the dragon has breached the safety of our castle!

"Would you like to go to Ocean City today?"

"Yes! Yes please!"

And we took off all day. There was sun, and blue sky and blue water, boards, and smells of everything they sell on the boards...cotton candy, monkey cake, pizza, pretzels, popcorn, peanuts, saltwater taffy.....light breezes...........

First stop, the Used Book Store on Asbury. Actually able to pick up a couple of books from my recommended reading list.

On to the boards. Walked to our usual haunt for lunch...the Beach Club.

Sorry. Closed at 2. It was 2:30. We felt betrayed. But we still love them. Walked back to a new place, Clancy's by the Sea. Liked it a lot....but sure sorry they are located in a dry town...the place really demands you order beer!

More walking on the boards. Sitting at the pier reading.
Sun! Melanoma does take some of the joy out of it. But after a long winter, and far too many days sitting at a desk not even near a window, I relished it. I usually need to be doing something when sitting, even if reading...but today I could just be....just be in the not too hot sun, hearing the young people playing volleyball on the sand...hearing kids digging and jumping and chasing the seagulls...hearing the soft chatting of the oldsters sitting in the sun just like me.
Finally it was nearing time to go, so we strolled along once more and ended up at Mack and Mancos.....the place of actual destination when we go to OC. We might make side stops at the boards, the sand, the shops, but we are, in fact, in OC for Mack and Mancos. And in the dead of winter when we sit and dream about OC - we are actually dreaming about that place!
Dinner under our belts, we headed home.

Long Long ago.....

A picture of me (with the braids) holding my baby brother Chickie, my sister Carol is at left and our cousin Tommy behind her. This was taken at our house "up on the hill" in Columbia NJ. I remember that little sun dress, I think I wore it all the time. I was about 7 1/2 in this picture quite the little "mother."

My dad built the house we lived in, and the house next door which my Grandma Davis and Aunt Anita lived in. My dad's father had acquired the land long before and eventually we lost it and had to move to a house downtown. I really loved the house on the hill....Carol and I had a wonderful room of our own, with a little bay window with a window seat. It was a model house I love to this day.

I used to tend the furnace in the morning. One day I discovered a mouse in a trap when I was about 6. I found some sticks, released the trap and let the mouse limp away. I have always remembered my mother and father's reaction, - they laughed fondly. I think I knew at the time that it was a strange reaction for them, but I also felt extremely proud of myself. It was in this house that I first saw television. Dad brought a little one home, we all got out of bed and went to see the magic of it. On a tiny glass "window" you could see a black and white movie - a horror film, I believe, something about graveyards. While this was not my first home, I have so many memories there and most are wonderful.

I remember it before it was a home. It was land then, and I was there to see my Dad create the foundation. I learned most of his tools and could fetch them as needed. It made my little heart swell to be a part of something he was doing. And I felt I was assisting in making our home. The earth there was red clay....as they dug it, I was amazed to see it was clay. I formed little creatures from it. And it might have been one of the few times my Dad showed that he enjoyed something I was doing.

I started school in this house. My very best friend lived just a half dozen houses down from us. Our communication was yelling. "Can you play?" "Yes, come down (up)." We loved our "instant talking." Early cell phones? Ha ha!

I remember the trains going by in back. I remember Mom setting fire to the entire lot burning leaves or trash. I remember a snow fall when Dad opened the back door there were only a couple of inches of light at the top! I remember playing cowboys and indians. I remember Carol, who was only a baby herself, filling Chickie's bottle with 4 Roses because he was crying. Mom caught it just in time!

I remember Anita (Neen) whispering to me, if you want to go to the ocean with me, you pack your little suitcase tonight and meet me early in the morning. I guess I'll never know if she really told my parents, but I would creep out before sunrise and go next door. We'd sneak to the car, drive quietly out and hit the road. I was filled with the thrill of it all. She never drove the speed limit, and would often just throw her hands in the air and say "Punkin' I'm not steering any more, it's up to you!" I'd throw myself over onto her lap and steer. Our laughter was trailing behind us.

There were often police stops and I never remember her getting a ticket. She'd flirt, she was beautiful, and there were as many date requests as warnings, as I recall.

We would go out into the ocean, I'd have to wear little rubber shoes, and there were ropes tied to posts which one held onto. I'm not sure, but I believe many of our trips to the ocean were to Atlantic City. There may have been other locations too.

The line in my life between happy childhood and less so is drawn just at the point where we moved from this house.

Monkeys and Wrenches and Things That Go Bump in the Night

Life is nothing if it is not interesting.
It's what caused the original thought that Life is a Classroom, I'm quite sure.
Some think - tho' how they can retain the thought - that Life is a straight road...cradle to grave.
But my observation leads me to believe that Life is actually a sightseeing tour. It doesn't go straight anywhere except, perhaps when it is during the last couple of weeks of school, in a hot, airless classroom in the subject you like least. That's a straight road, as I recall...straight, boring, nightmarishly mundane and mind numbing.
The rest of it is up steep mountains, on the edge of a cliff with no barriers, then down pits sometimes with no brakes. It goes through places of beauty that take your breath away. It continues into the darkest night, no lights, no guides that you can see...only taken on Faith.
And Change. Oh my, there are changes, sudden S-curves with no idea what lies ahead and no idea what might be coming at you from the other side.
I think the only constant is the assurance of the Love of God. He stays right there, in the seat beside you, He has the map, He has the charge card for more "gas", He's been there before and whispers encouragement and direction.
You can just hold on to the wheel, keep an eye focused upon the point of light ahead, even if you have to pretend to see it, one step, one inch, one mile at a time
and the next thing you know,
you've lived a life!
We are in a state of changes now, we are both in some upheaval, and it is weighing heavy on our hearts. He is about to retire. I am about to be married to someone retired. My place of work is something like a smelting furnace right now. Souls and minds and hearts are being tried. I am mostly a silent observer, but the sparks and danger threaten me, so I walk carefully, love as best I can and come home spent.
Thank you God, for Your place in the seat next to me. I'll always try to feel your arm, thrown, like a mother's, across me when the big turns, stops and starts occur. And know that I am loved, and I am Living Life.

Stuff Happens

Life happens when you are busy planning something else.
Friday morning I had just got settled at my desk, was getting computer started, sorting some paperwork and my phone, set on vibrate, went off.
I generally get one phone call, at lunchtime, from hubby. No more, usually. No less.
I checked.
A text message.
I read it.
“Hey Beautiful hope ur having great week.”
Middle son.
I wasn’t planning on floating on air.
But it happened.

We've Reached the Core of the Apple

Saturday dawned cool and sunny. Although we had a paid pass for the tour bus again, Lar was most excited about the upcoming Tartan Day Parade. He’d brought along his tartan vest and trousers and was set to be on hand for the festivities. After another EuropaCafe breakfast, we chatted with a NYC cop who filled us in on where to be and when to be there and then we strolled a bit, enjoying the sun.
We crossed the street to Rockefeller Center, headed for the “Top of the Rock.” While on the top, with the incredible view, we met a number of folks from around the world, including one gentleman now from Australia, but upon hearing him speak, we knew that was not his homeland. He confessed to being from Scotland and his last name is Davidson – no doubt a relative! He hadn’t known about the parade, and when Lar told him about it, he and his children were really excited to attend. It was so clear, we could not have had a better day for this visit to the Rock.
After all that fresh air, we toured the interior of the building until 2 PM which we’d been advised to be on hand for the parade at 6th Ave.

The parade was such fun. We were standing curbside when a lady approached us with a Scottish flag, commented on how great Lar looked in his tartan and gave him the flag for us to hold over the police barrier. We were honored to do so. All of New York was Scottish for a couple of hours that day…. every tartan you could think of was represented, Scotties, pipers, drummers – and lots of cheering. Finally we saw the MacKays represented…one lone lady…when we shouted “Clan MacKay!” she waved – I think she was a bit taken back and pleased that we pronounced it correctly!
At the end of the parade, following three women on horseback were representatives of the NYC Department of Sanitation. They were just quietly walking along and it struck me how important their job is yet no one was paying them any mind. I began to applaud and call out and at once, Lar and then others picked it up and you could hear them being hailed as they proceeded down the blocks. They were smiling and bowing and feeling pretty good about themselves. I loved it! “Guid fur them.”
After the parade we walked up 6th Street to 52nd Street and walked about a block and one half to Gallagher’s for an early dinner. Again, a recommendation by our dear friend Bill, Gallagher’s is an old-timey steak place….if there should be any doubt, check out their entrance….front window and as you walk into the restaurant….meat, meat, meat…hanging inside a windowed refrigeration room….very unusual. Bill’s Grandfather’s picture hangs along with what must be thousands throughout the restaurant, and since we’d no idea where to look, we probably didn’t see him! Lar loved all the old baseball players’ pictures around him….perfect table for the man. We had a very leisurely meal, savoring every bite.
We enjoyed our stroll back, and lingered around the skating rink, soaking up the atmosphere, hoping to have it last a while once we’d gone home the next day.
In the morning we had a buffet breakfast in the hotel restaurant and took a bit of extra time to enjoy the view…stepped out onto the open air area to snap a few photos…and then the sad task of packing up to leave.
We were advised to go up to 5th Ave to get a cab, which we did. We got one immediately, and our driver was a young man who, we were surprised to learn has only been on the job one month – he was expert at NYC traffic!-and he is in this country going to school. And so we were summarily dropped at Penn Station where shock set in. We’ve sent a few guests off on the train, with directions on going to Penn Station for the return trip, but we never had any idea what we’d sent them to! The place is just chock-a-block with people, very little in the way of signage…we felt like we might never figure it all out. A kind stranger almost immediately noticed and on the run directed us to the ticket seller we needed. But then after we had the tickets, we found the muffled announcements impossible to understand, and none of the posted departures looked like the one we wanted. Again, from out of the blue, a lady next to us said – on the run – “follow me, that’s where I am going!” I don’t know where we’d be – so often – without that famous kindness of strangers. And so we got onto the train, were lulled almost to sleep and before we knew it, were back at our car and on the way home.
Lovely trip.
Can’t wait to go again.
It has become almost cliché to hear of the indifference of New Yorkers. You hear that too about the Scots and the English. Lar and I have yet to be convinced of this….we’ve had total strangers come out of crowds like emissaries, bent upon assistance to us, and while we know the personality of crowds can take on a mindless sense of purpose – getting where they are going, focused on some distant point, those same crowds are made up of mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles….people who actually care, people who have a heart. They are good and decent and we don’t ever forget each and every one of them who have leant a hand, a kind word, a thoughtful gesture. You know who you are, out there, and we love you!

A Tough Nut to Swallow

I have finally finished reading the book to which I referred some time ago, given by a friend. The title of the book is A Change of Allegiance and it was written by Dean Taylor. Quoting from the back cover: "Dean..and his wife were both in the U. S. Army when they realized that, as committed Christians, they had to come to grip with the questions What should a Christian do with Jesus' words "love your enemies? Is it all right for a Christian to go to war? and Doesn't a Christian have an obligation to defend his country? In a new and sincere quest for truth, they were determined to follow Jesus Christ under the banner "no Compromise." As they began to search the Scriptures and church history, they came to the startling discovery that the Christian Church originally was uniformly opposed to Christians going to war or joining the military."
I have always been conflicted about this theme. Knowing in my heart that I believe we should not inflict harm on one another. Knowing that war in any form is wrong. Knowing that hatred between us is wrong. Yet, coming from a family of people who have proudly, obediently and bravely gone to war to protect our nation and our freedom. My father beached on Normandy. My Uncle holds a Purple Heart. My brothers were in Viet Nam, one of them, too, holds a Purple Heart. Knowing that on 9-11 my heart and mind raged against the "enemy" and I would have done anything at all asked of me by my country on that day.
Deeply held beliefs on both side of the coin.
I have a few of these...and I lightly dabble from time to time in thinking about it, chasing my tail, so to speak....this, no that, no this.....and coming up with no way to come down definitively on either side.
That's why I simply hated beginning to read this book. I knew it might make me decide. And I knew that wasn't going to be easy.
The book is actually a good read. It's the journey on which it takes you that is difficult.
Have I come up with an answer for myself?
Yes.
I have made up my mind that the type of Conscientious Objector to which Mr. Taylor refers is absolutely the right thing.
I have made up my mind that few people (I believe) can ever be exactly that kind of Christian.
I believe that those who can are truly blessed.
I believe that if, tomorrow, everyone reached that state, our civilization would be gone. In fact, no doubt, "most" civilization would be gone. And we would have to be "okay with that."
Because after all, we would have reached our allegiance with God. We would have saved our souls.
But as I don't think that will ever happen.....then I believe there must be no hope at all for the rest of us.
Am I sorry I read the book? No, not at all. It stretched my mind and my heart. It got me thinking hard about the questions he raises, and the questions he caused me to raise. I'd recommend anyone read the book. But be prepared to come face to face with hopelessness. Futility. It's all or nothing at all. Christianity is not for the faint of heart, dear ones. Not at all.