Category Archives: Causes and Friends

Posts regarding causes–mine and those of some friends.

Veterans Day 2024

Assuming you’re not packing up and leaving the country (sorry, I couldn’t resist), perhaps you’ll join me in celebrating our Veterans on Monday. I have a couple of ideas for us.

We could visit a Veterans Memorial or Cemetery. Contrary to some social media posts, Veterans Day honors both fallen and living Veterans. (Memorial Day is meant to specifically honor those who paid the ultimate price.) If the flags haven’t been removed for the winter, we could straighten a few.

We could go to a Veterans Day event. It may take some searching, or you could create your own. Put up a flag! Some years ago, during a trip to Arlington National Cemetery, a group of us ended up in an ice cream shop. Some folks come in wearing uniforms. With little fanfare, my young nieces Lindsi and Abigail paid their bills. Does that give you an idea for creating an event?

We could create a moment of silence. That sounds simple, but you can only concentrate on what our veterans have made possible for us all. My moment will include the poem, “In Flanders Fields.”1 An important stanza from that poem is:

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.

Sometimes I worry that we’ve caught the torch but dropped it instead of holding it high. That thought leaves me haunted by the millions of veterans who cannot sleep.

Moina Michael is credited with starting the tradition of wearing a red poppy and seeing it adopted as a symbol of remembrance for war veterans by the American Legion Auxiliary and by Earl Haig’s British Legion Appeal Fund (later The Royal British Legion). The orginal poppies were made by veterans from crepe paper and sold as a way of raising funds for veterans support. But more importantly, as a simple way to show support of those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in defending freedom across the globe. She also wrote a poem assuring those who sleep we have the torch and are keeping faith.

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the faith
With all who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the torch and poppy red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.2

The poppies are getting hard to find. But we can still wear one in our head and heart. And spend a moment or two thinking about holding tightly the torch.


  1. Read the entire story of the significance of the Veterans Day Poppy. ↩︎
  2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Shall_Keep_the_Faith ↩︎

Don’t Count on It! (Round 2)

I just noticed this is National School Bus Safety Week. Since I haven’t noticed any change in practice, I’m running this post again!

Here’s a short message for kids and parents everywhere. Things don’t always happen the way they’re supposed to. Let me explain.

cute diverse children near school bus
Photo by Mary Taylor on Pexels.com

I recently stopped for a school bus. That’s not big news. It is an example of things happening the way they should. I was facing the bus and could see past it, noticing that the cars behind it had also stopped exactly as they should.

The lights flashed, the stop sign on the bus opened, and the safety arm across the front of the bus swung wide.

Four or five kids got off the bus. They ranged in size from tiny ones with outsized backpacks to some older ones. They came around the front of the bus. So far, so good.

Some ran, some walked in front of the bus and across the highway.

When they started across my lane, I started yelling at them even though there was no way they could hear me. They didn’t stop or even pause to look up and down the road. Fortunately, everything was working the way it should. Well, almost everything. I think the kids were supposed to look both ways.

Safety shouldn’t be delegrated;
it should be shared.

“Mr. Boomsma”

Sometimes, things don’t work the way they should. I can think of several ways that might have been the case. Several days later, there was a headline from a distant state where someone didn’t stop for a school bus, and a child was injured.

If we want kids to feel and be safe, we need to involve them. It wouldn’t be so bad for them to learn they have some responsibility for staying safe. A few seconds-long pause to look up and down the road is just plain smart.

Perhaps parents should meet the bus at the start of the school year and ensure the kids do. I’d be happy if the bus driver kept the window open and told the kids to stop and look—at least until they got into the habit. It’s been a few years since I’ve attended a school bus safety program, but I’d be thrilled if crossing in front of the bus was part of that curriculum. Safety shouldn’t be delegated; it should be shared.

Learning to Live Together

This morning, I read an interesting but disturbing story on my favorite Amish-related site, Amish America. I recommend the site and story to you, but the short version is that a Wisconsin man is concerned about an Amish School located in a hazardous location due to blind hills and curves. He’s lobbying local authorities (somewhat unsuccessfully) to put in school warning signs on the road.

The Amish are aware of his efforts. An unidentified member of the Amish Community sent Jim Kostohrys (a retired police officer) a letter of appreciation.

The last line of that letter might be the real story here. It expresses appreciation and support for Kostohrys’ efforts.

“Let us live together in a respectful way.”

A large part of my appreciation for the Amish is their effort to keep things simple. That sentence is a simple but elegant example.

Our (non-Amish) system of problems-solving seems less than simple. In spite of the efforts and media attention, it appears little progress has been made towards taking steps to protect these young scholars.

Amish children and one room Amish schools are important. It doesn’t come as a surprise to me that more than one person has suggested moving the Amish school to a better location. That’s not a particularly simple solution, but it reflects the belief this is an “Amish Problem.”

It’s OUR problem.

“Let us live together in a respectful way.”

Do You Know Who I Am?

Before some spraying and scrubbing.

You don’t have to answer, but I hope you’ll wonder just a little bit. This is a gravesite stone in the “old” Abbot Village Cemetery across from the town hall. You can still make out the word “Baby,” but you can likely surmise this child lived some years ago. The stone is worn, covered with lichen, and discolored, so I guess we don’t know who this is—or was.

My goal is to encourage curiosity, not sadness. Particularly as we age, we do tend to think about “legacy.” Most commonly (and the dictionary supports this), we think of our legacy as the amount of money or property we leave behind. It’s one way we will be remembered. Gravestones are another.

This child, or perhaps more accurately the family, “left behind” this small stone. I was reminded of the child’s short life during the few hours I spent recently volunteering to help the Abbot Historical Society clean gravestones. I found “Baby” in the family plot I was offered as my project.

After some spraying and scrubbing, the special solution we used will continue to work, and hopefully, the stains will lighten.

As I worked, I learned a bit more about “Baby.” He was the infant son of George and Sara Bradman. While his lifespan isn’t documented with dates, based on his parents’ stone, he probably lived his short life on Earth in the mid-to-late 1800s.

I mentioned all this to a good friend in an email. Jack replied, “Everyone does their best to make life work… Keeping gravestones clean is a nice reminder of how the system works. Not a bad spiritual exercise.”

Without getting too theological, I hope Baby Bradman and his parents are pleased with my work. I think our little town of Abbot is a better place, not just because this cemetery will look better when the project is finished, but because we are showing that we care about our community and its legacy. The spiritual exercise and reminder of how the system works was a bonus.

But wait, there’s more! Spending a few hours with like-minded coworkers was enjoyable. Everything we needed was provided, including materials, tools, support, and encouragement. We all paused briefly when a passing car repeatedly blew its horn, and the driver leaned out the window, waving and yelling, “Thank you!”

This was one of those occasions when the work itself was the reward. If you live in Abbot, keep an eye and ear open for the next opportunity. You can also contact Brian at the Abbot Historical Society. I won’t be surprised if you join this effort for a few hours and decide to do more.

Weird But Happy Hearts

“Don’t ever be ashamed of loving the strange things that make your weird little heart happy.”

Elizabeth Gilbert

I suppose it goes with the territory of “aging,” but for some reason, this past week, I noticed some strange things that make me happy. One was stumbling onto Elizabeth’s quote and realizing my heart is weird.

One thing that’s making me happy is my email inbox is approaching a record low of under 100 emails. The delete button is showing signs of wear. That also makes me happy.

Late yesterday afternoon I went to Nightengale’s Dairy to pick up milk. I always stop to say “thanks” to the girls and scratch the interested ones behind the ears and under the chin. Seeing them look expectantly at the truck when I drive in makes me happy. I like to think seeing the truck makes them happy.

If I seem a bit obsessed with bovines, I can offer “We’re Already Here” as an explanation that a summer road trip to Michigan includes a four-day commitment to learning how to train and drive a team of oxen. That will make my weird little heart happy.

Speaking of cows, my Amish friend Rachel in Pennsylvania made a sign for us: “Money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy cows. Cows give milk. Ice cream is made from milk. Ice cream makes me happy.” We gifted it to a friend who loves cows even more than I do, but I think I love ice cream more than she does.

And speaking of Amish, I love my occasional visits with my Swartzentruber friends in Corinth. During a recent stop, the boys and I compared suspenders. It started when they found mine with clips fascinating (weird?). It became a bit of a “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” Their suspenders come from a harness maker, are made from leather, and button inside their trousers. That we can share our differences makes my weird little heart happy.

The oldest boy just finished his first year of school, so he now speaks English well, although his Mom had to help us with the word horse–“paard” in Pennsylvania Dutch. I like to think we are learning to celebrate–to love–our sometimes strange differences.

After all, we don’t all love the same kind of ice cream.