Today is the U.S. Holiday of Memorial Day.  The paper said it well this morning: “On the last Monday in May each year, Americans pause to pay tribute to the men and women who have given their lives in our nation’s defense.”  Yesterday, on Sunday, over a 1,000 volunteers of all ages and backgrounds spread out across the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery to decorate each and every one of the 28,000 graves with a flag.

My parents served in World War II.  Mom lost her first husband in the Pacific.  She wanted to help and she joined the Red Cross.  Dad was in the artillery in Europe until they discovered he could sing and play an instrument.  He was sent to Nice in Southern France to entertain the troops, where Mom had been assigned as a Donut Girl.  The story goes that they first met on the steps of a casino, which was now a theatre, where he promptly told her that he would marry her.  She slapped him so hard that he fell the rest of the way down those stairs.  Apparently it didn’t work because after the war I was born with the first wave of baby boomers.

In the US, our summers are framed by the two holidays:  this day, Memorial Day, near the end of June and the end of the school year, and Labor Day near the beginning of September and the start of the next school year.  I admit I could never remember which was which, until I realized they are in reverse alphabetical order, “M” first before “L.”  I need little helps like that.  Perhaps, you can use it too.

Today is a time of transition and of tradition, of remembering those to whom we do owe so much, who have gone before us and are with us still.  I think I’ll give Mom and Dad a call.  They are in their nineties, with the challenges that accompany growing older.  People notice that they still hold hands and smile and joke with each other.  Admittedly, it is more difficult when one is in a wheel chair and the other a walker.  Their lives have changed, but I don’t think they’ve changed.  Dad still has to be careful what he says or he might get knocked down the stairs again.  Just kidding, she’d only throw a cough drop at him.

Thanks for listening and do enjoy your day,

Grandpa Jim

Good Day and Hello,

A warm wind blowing this morning.  Thursday is here and tomorrow the weekend starts!!!

I spent yesterday afternoon and part of the evening working on the next Uncle Joe story.  It is a story that has been told but never written.  Ms. Mary suggested some changes and I will work on those today.  Tonight, I will tell the revised story to my granddaughters, Katelyn and Finley, and receive their critiques.

In some ways, writing a story is like making soup.  You start out with your soup and ask some people to taste it.  One suggests more spices, another more vegetables, this one a bit more thickening, over here a sweet touch, and that one slips something into the pot when your back is turned.  You look at the soup and it looks the same.  You taste it and it tastes, well, different, but good, Ok?  You taste it again and smile and realize that this is a better soup.  Then, you invite some friends in and have a party.  I like to think of writing that way.

Oh, Uncle Joe is combining and working on water leaks.  He’s a busy guy, but  he promised to read  “Who is  Uncle Joe.”  So, hopefully you will see that blog post article soon.

Have a wonderful Thursday,

Grandpa Jim