Monday, May 25, 2015

USN

Zero dark thirty and the third day of a good three day weekend for Memorial Day. What is it? Well, Tass and family are here, and Malinda and Kristen have come, all of whom make my moments perfect. The condo is still quiet, everyone but me sleeping. I won’t allow the mind to think past noon, when remnants of the carrot cake Linda baked for Jeremy’s birthday will be packed up along with girls and stuffed animals. My girls make my life.

From the balcony porch and front window we look out on the breadth and distance of St. Andrew Bay. Saturday morning early the Bay began filling up with boats zipping across to Shell Island, continuing until afternoon. I wondered if the beach scene was anything like this


Mid-afternoon the boats started flowing this way like an incoming tide. As I watched them, with yet another round of dermatology zaps on my head, I hoped nobody got as sunburned as I did so many times at the beach sixty and seventy years ago. Sunburn has reared its ugly head: mine.

Memorial Day, with the obligatory guilt trip remarks that everyone ought to remember it’s not about a day off, a long weekend, a picnic, the start of summer, that it’s about being thankful for those who gave their lives in national service. Flanders Fields, Let’s Remember Pearl Harbor, Decoration Day. 58195 names on The Wall. Before lunch, on the way back from buying fried chicken at Publix, I’ll wear my U.S. Navy Retired cap with scrambled eggs on the bill and visit a couple friends. I appreciate.

I appreciate, and appreciated being appreciated. Bit of bitterness creeps in. Returning from the Vietnam War in the late 1960s and early 1970s, we were advised not to wear the uniform in public, because we were apt to be harassed or spit on. And we were — by people who didn’t have sense enough, were too gardenia alphabet stupid, to realize that the unpopular war was not our doing but the work of the politicians they voted for. However, a nation with narcissistic personality disorder never looks in a mirror and spits, but always finds someone else to blame.

On Memorial Day this is not a grouse, but a memory. I’m thankful for the Day, and most of all for my beloveds.


TW
Commander, USNavy (Retired)

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