Chaos In A Bottle

The Virginia Children’s Chorus Chamber Singers – “Tell My Father”

I feel like it’s been a long time since I’ve written a funny post. This isn’t one, either, but it is an important one, I think, and I hope you’ll bear with me to the end.

This Monday is Memorial Day. It’s not Barbeque Day, or Pool Opening Day, or Buy A Lot of Crud Day.

It’s not a day that you wish someone a “happy” one of.

Does that mean that you shouldn’t have a cookout, or go to the pool, or buy a lot of crud? No. It doesn’t. In fact, you probably SHOULD do those things, at least the first two, but I want you to remember WHY you’re able to do those things, and I want you to spare a thought for those to whom this day strikes nerves still raw.

This is the day that we, as a country, have set aside to honor those who died while in service to the United States. That we as a people NEED to stop and reflect on those who paid the price for the freedoms that we enjoy, and to remember that those freedoms aren’t free; we are just so fortunate that someone else paid what was due. We need to remember the pain of every parent who has buried a son or daughter, every spouse who buried a husband or wife, every child who lost a mother or father. Every Soldier, Sailor, Airman, Marine, and Coast Guardsman who has lost brothers and sisters in arms, for those bonds run deep.

I want you to enjoy your day. I want you to eat with your family, play games with your children, laugh with your friends. I want you to do these things because brave, brave souls gave all their tomorrows so you COULD have this day.

I just want us all to be grateful.

May your Memorial Day be one of honor, of remembrance, of gratitude, and of love.

In Flanders Fields – John McCrae

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.