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Causes and Friends

Reminders and Remembering

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During a trip through a store recently I found it necessary to wind my way around cases of beer stacked in the aisle. It didn’t take long to recognize this was part of society’s preparation for yet another Memorial Day. I’m not a member of the Temperance Union, so I do not see this as a bad thing.

The day was actually filled with reminders. There was the obligatory stop to deposit a donation in a volunteer fireman’s boot… the need to slow and swerve around the work crews installing flags on the utility poles throughout towns in the area… and the buzzing of lawn mowers and trimmers when driving by cemeteries.

A Normandy Cemetery
A Normandy Cemetery

There’s a lot to love about Memorial Day, really. A memorial is most typically an object, designed to focus memory of something—a person or an event. Memorial Day is meant to remind us of the people who died while serving in the armed forces. Wikipedia puts that number at approximately 1,354,000 for all wars. That is a sobering statistic and a lot of remembering.

But these are not just faceless numbers and names, either. Little effort is required to see them, even if only in our minds and hearts.

An admirable characteristic of our society is that we are willing to memorialize these men and women. We do so in many ways—from granite monuments to parades and ceremonies, we do remember.

One Memorial Day reminder that I haven’t had yet this year is my annual purchase of a poppy. I have past purchases scattered around, attached to jackets, and the lamp beside the bed. I could probably find one in my jewelry box. But it’s the act of purchasing that is important, perhaps because I get to see a face and shake hands with someone who served. I fear this is a fading tradition, even as we celebrate its 100th anniversary. In 1915, Moina Michael came up with the idea of wearing a red poppy in honor of those who died in war. She also sold poppies to friends and coworkers with the proceeds going to benefit servicemen in need.

The program was adopted by the VFW in 1922 and became both a source of income and an important memorial. Most are at least casually familiar with the poem “In Flanders Fields.” Few are aware that it was the inspiration for Moina’s own poem and her poppy program.

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.

While we are willing to memorialize these men and woman, I think Moina understood an important truth. If we were not willing to march or watch… if we were not willing to purchase and hang flags throughout our communities… if we did not visit cemeteries and erect monuments… (all important things we should do)… there are still undeniable signals—some as simple as a red poppy—to remind us that the blood of heroes never dies.

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.

Learning, Personal Growth

This is important…

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Bethanie and I preparing for Memorial Day
Bethanie and I preparing for Memorial Day

“Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”

L. M. Montgomery

For me, Memorial Day is always a day of reflection and tradition. Unfortunately, one tradition has been lost because of distance. And yet it has not been lost because of memory.

Some of my most vivid childhood memories center on this day. I remember multiple trips to the cemetery with my father. We would retrieve the flag holder from his father’s grave for wire brushing and a fresh coat of paint before the new flags were placed. I felt a special sense of pride that Grandfather had two flags–British and American, although I didn’t fully understand why at the time.

Of course there was grass to trim and flowers to plant. We also had to go to the Legion Hall because there were rifles to clean and ready. Dad led the honor guard and he strove for perfection. To this day, I long to hear “one shot” when the volley is fired. And after all these years, I consider myself fortunate that I can still remember those days when the whole town turned out to follow the parade. I wish we still did that.

Dad served in the Navy, stationed in the South Pacific during World War II. I believe he strove for perfection because it a way of honoring and remembering those who didn’t come home. In the too few years he and I had together he taught me many things. On Memorial Day I learned “This is important.”

I was five when my Dad was laid to rest next to his father. When old enough I accepted the responsibility for maintaining the family plot. For a while I was able to share it with my daughter Bethanie.

Abbot Memorial Day 2012
Abbot Memorial Day 2012 “This is important.”

Time has passed. Life has happened. And while I miss actually making those preparations I am pleased they are not lost.

Today is a day for remembering and there is much to remember. I’ll be at our town parade. Most of these parades get a little shorter every year. The news reports that one town in Massachusetts will not have a parade, “There aren’t enough veterans.” But in my mind I’ll see an endless line of veterans marching. They are not lost. I’ll probably get a lump in my throat when taps are played.  But I’ll smile when I remember that the term “taps”   originates from the Dutch term taptoe, meaning “close the beer taps and send the troops back to camp.”

Remembering and reflecting does not have to be about loss. “Nothing is ever really lost as long as we remember it.”

Day is done, gone the sun
From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky
All is well, safely rest
God is nigh.
Fading light dims the sight
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright
From afar, drawing near
Falls the night.
Thanks and praise for our days
Neath the sun, neath the stars, neath the sky
As we go, this we know
God is nigh.

Personal Growth, Uncategorized

Slightly More Than 24 notes…

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I guess I’ve heard “taps” played many times throughout my life… most of those occasions were at Memorial Day or Veterans’ Day Celebrations. While not all of the the times have been “perfect,” the sentiment always is and it seems to be one of the occasions when silence reins in the too thin crowds. For the duration we seem to become aware of the number of flags flying in the cemetery we visit on these special days.

Since many of us will be experiencing this Monday, here’s a little taps trivia. The original version of what we call “Taps” was written by Daniel Butterfield in 1801 and was then named “Last Post.” It was rather lengthy and formal so in 1862 it was shortened to 24 notes and re-named “Taps.”

The performance of the original version embedded here makes the rounds every so often… it has a lot to recommend it. For one thing it was performed in Holland by a reasonably popular trumpeter named Melissa Venema. At the time of this recording she was thirteen years old. It’s pretty powerful–turn off all distractions, listen and watch. You won’t hear a false note and you will be as mesmerized as the crowd who watches her perform with the Johann Strauss Orchestra under the capable direction of Andre Rieu.

And maybe you could think about attending a Memorial Day Event to hear it played again–perhaps not as well, but with just as much meaning.