This is what service to country means. The idea that you placed yourself in harms way for your fellow citizen, your family, your way of life, for your country. No amount of thanks can be given to these young men and women and the ones who are no longer with us and the ones that served in wars past. I can never walk up to a warrior and simply shake their hands and say thank you without my eyes sweating and letting them know the undying gratitude I have for them and what they've done. If it wasn't for them, I and my family wouldn't be here in this great country and have the opportunities to have done the things I have done. It simply wouldn't have happened. I am a humble servant on the backs of these giants.
So if any of you wonder why I am impassioned and unfailingly angry at my own fellow citizens who denigrate this country with their anti-american ideology, this is one of the main reasons why. I have no tolerance for it anymore. I've reached my limit with these people.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
Lt. Col. John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Expeditionary Force
I don't understand anything. Yes to everything, no argument here, but I still don't understand. The photo gets you pow right in the heart, right in the left ventricle. It gets you so hard you project into the picture And imagine yourself parading around because of that war way back then And over time as you age and keep up your parade every year, now it's become a thing, you notice your mates disappear one by one. Until eventually there are just a few of you still after all these years still after intervening wars you make a point to parade around. Your uniform no longer fits. Your medals are arranged on a non uniform coat that does fit. You hold flowers and a balloon, wearing medals pinned on civilian clothes, and cry in public because it got down to you. Now, I live every day with this precise sentiment and I am hardly the only one. Fairly every person that I know who is left has this precise lonely survivor sentiment wearing on their soul. In a way it's all of life in a nutshell right there. And all that wearing upon the soul is private and shared. It's the parade every year that I don't understand. That public ritual does not process. The balloon doesn't fit. Is he wearing all his pal's medals? Parading all his pal's medals? Layered medals on civilian clothes doesn't fit. The pubic spectacle I do not understand. (But then I could never understand Mithraic-like Protestant rituals either. Or Boy Scout ritual, or anything ritual) I see this photo, I feel all the feelings I should feel, I agree with everything said, and I still don't understand anything.
To compensate for my abject lack of understanding, I'll understand different things instead. Here's where we depart.
I understand I get to fly the flag tomorrow. I'm the only one around here with a flag holder that matches the railing. Special made just for these flag flying days. So it's a thing. Fly the flappy flag. It's fun. Maybe I'll take a picture from the other side so it shows how much it sticks out among other flag bereft balconies.
I understand that I just now invented a new face exercise based on the work Carole Maggio. It isolates the muscles of the upper mandible with all the fingers, or else two index fingers lain between the nose and upper lip, squeezed, and force a hard "O" shape with the lips an squeeze really hard until failure, then keep doing that, then release and make the "O" shape with no squeezing and your face is tingling all over the place and you go wow man that really works because now both sides are cooperating equally.
I undertand that I really do need a cast iron bread pan and I hope to remember to use Lem's Amazon magical portal when I do. The amazing popcorn cornbread convinced me it's needed. For other things too. Regular bread. Half batch of brownies, that sort of thing. And the glass one needn't be tossed. It's still a useful dish.
When I was 19 I thought, hey, learn to make bread. So I went to a Target store two blocks away on Sheridan and bought what they had 2 non stick bread pans. Now, decades later they're a bit scratched. cheap, a bit small, and still very useful. Like one of those things that just happened to stay. Then, I also noticed random sourdough yeast cultures I collected here and there keep getting in the way and falling from their shelf in the freezer, I keep pushing them around, and those things Maui and Antioch are more than ten years old, older than my nephews in Concord. They just stick around.
The man really does need to put the medals away, stop parading a remote melancholy past and do the best to make the most of what remains for his life.
Unless it's parading that's his thing, then do carry on. We get the feelz and hard just seeing your picture.
6 comments:
This is what service to country means. The idea that you placed yourself in harms way for your fellow citizen, your family, your way of life, for your country. No amount of thanks can be given to these young men and women and the ones who are no longer with us and the ones that served in wars past. I can never walk up to a warrior and simply shake their hands and say thank you without my eyes sweating and letting them know the undying gratitude I have for them and what they've done. If it wasn't for them, I and my family wouldn't be here in this great country and have the opportunities to have done the things I have done. It simply wouldn't have happened. I am a humble servant on the backs of these giants.
So if any of you wonder why I am impassioned and unfailingly angry at my own fellow citizens who denigrate this country with their anti-american ideology, this is one of the main reasons why. I have no tolerance for it anymore. I've reached my limit with these people.
Indeed, Meth. Indeed.
Memorial Day by Tarzana Joe
Let’s hear it for the soldiers
Our sons and daughters who
Are founders and protectors
Of everything we do
They knew about the dangers
But by service they were steered
Despite the threats to life and limb
They bravely volunteered
They come from every background
From humble house or suite
But due to that decision
I say they’re all elite
They fight against oppression
Relieve the set upon
They knew the G in G.I. Joe
Didn’t stand for Genghis Khan
They rescue the beleaguered
They liberate the town
And no one better never ever
Tell them to stand down
Let’s let them know they’re honored
And that their nation cares
Let’s hold them in our memories
And keep them in our prayers
Next time you see a soldier
There’s no need to be nervous
Walk right up, stick out your hand
And thank them for their service
And where a battle rages
And when the bugle calls
May angels rush to raise them
When any soldier falls
They stand defending freedom
And everything it means
God bless the Army, Navy, Airforce,
Coast Guard and Marines
Nice post April.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lt. Col. John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Expeditionary Force
A lot of guys have had that experience. Some saw their outfit wiped out several times and could never understand why they were allowed to survive.
It's called Survivor Syndrome.
There's a price for freedom.
I don't understand anything.
Yes to everything, no argument here, but I still don't understand.
The photo gets you pow right in the heart, right in the left ventricle.
It gets you so hard you project into the picture
And imagine yourself parading around because of that war way back then
And over time as you age and keep up your parade every year, now it's become a thing, you notice your mates disappear one by one.
Until eventually there are just a few of you still after all these years still after intervening wars you make a point to parade around.
Your uniform no longer fits.
Your medals are arranged on a non uniform coat that does fit.
You hold flowers and a balloon, wearing medals pinned on civilian clothes, and cry in public because it got down to you.
Now, I live every day with this precise sentiment and I am hardly the only one. Fairly every person that I know who is left has this precise lonely survivor sentiment wearing on their soul. In a way it's all of life in a nutshell right there.
And all that wearing upon the soul is private and shared.
It's the parade every year that I don't understand. That public ritual does not process. The balloon doesn't fit. Is he wearing all his pal's medals? Parading all his pal's medals? Layered medals on civilian clothes doesn't fit.
The pubic spectacle I do not understand. (But then I could never understand Mithraic-like Protestant rituals either. Or Boy Scout ritual, or anything ritual)
I see this photo, I feel all the feelings I should feel, I agree with everything said, and I still don't understand anything.
To compensate for my abject lack of understanding, I'll understand different things instead. Here's where we depart.
I understand I get to fly the flag tomorrow. I'm the only one around here with a flag holder that matches the railing. Special made just for these flag flying days. So it's a thing. Fly the flappy flag. It's fun. Maybe I'll take a picture from the other side so it shows how much it sticks out among other flag bereft balconies.
I understand that I just now invented a new face exercise based on the work Carole Maggio. It isolates the muscles of the upper mandible with all the fingers, or else two index fingers lain between the nose and upper lip, squeezed, and force a hard "O" shape with the lips an squeeze really hard until failure, then keep doing that, then release and make the "O" shape with no squeezing and your face is tingling all over the place and you go wow man that really works because now both sides are cooperating equally.
I undertand that I really do need a cast iron bread pan and I hope to remember to use Lem's Amazon magical portal when I do. The amazing popcorn cornbread convinced me it's needed. For other things too. Regular bread. Half batch of brownies, that sort of thing. And the glass one needn't be tossed. It's still a useful dish.
When I was 19 I thought, hey, learn to make bread. So I went to a Target store two blocks away on Sheridan and bought what they had 2 non stick bread pans. Now, decades later they're a bit scratched. cheap, a bit small, and still very useful. Like one of those things that just happened to stay. Then, I also noticed random sourdough yeast cultures I collected here and there keep getting in the way and falling from their shelf in the freezer, I keep pushing them around, and those things Maui and Antioch are more than ten years old, older than my nephews in Concord. They just stick around.
The man really does need to put the medals away, stop parading a remote melancholy past and do the best to make the most of what remains for his life.
Unless it's parading that's his thing, then do carry on. We get the feelz and hard just seeing your picture.
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