My dad used to joke on his way to his favorite watering hole while passing Fort Logan cemetery, "That's where I'm going to be buried, to be near to the place that I love." What a jokester. Now he is buried there, and by no planning of his own. On the side near the road right where he used to point. I cannot even look at the place without getting busted up. I'm a sucker for jingoistic totems like flags and national cemeteries. Memorial day gets me all verklempt. I'm not crying, you're crying. Hey! That's not thunder out there either, those are fireworks!
I must now pray the glory of God. For His hand guiding my country. And I mean it. Pray gratitude for my luck being born here and into a fine solid family. And draw a picture. Here's to my country.
I love the days I can fly my giant flag and hear it flapping out there all day.
4 comments:
This is a classic, Chip.
Ah, but you'll offend some Lefty snowflake.
Arlington was the name of the Lee family plantation.
Fun fact: while Mrs Mary Anna Custis Lee lay incapacitated by arthritis in the main house at the time, her honor guard was composed of soldiers from the Corps d'Afrique.
My Marine dad served in Nam. Once, my sis, her husband, and I went to DC for the day. We ran around all day looking at the standard sites. At the end we had time for one more place. They went to the Jefferson Memorial, I veered over to the the Vietnam Memorial Wall. The ground slopes and you have the sense of descending into...what? All those names, and you can see your reflection in the shiny black granite.
What Chip said and Thankful too for Chip's great work here.
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