Memorial Day and my grandson’s
birthday/5/31
Our families
Memorial Day celebrations do not include decorating graves anymore.
Yes, we hold those who have entered a new dimension of their lives in
the Light; just about every day we talk about their exploits, like
they were the Viking Sagas, and some of us talk to them all the time
if necessary.
Around Memorial
Day, or on the day, we celebrate Life, my grandson’s birthday, and
spring, by having a huge family and sometimes friends picnic, the
Highlight of which is Games.
Not tennis,
softball, Hunger Games, but games of laser tag, maybe, paint guns,
etc. Number one grandson writes a playbook all year long. He has lots
of notebooks with every conceived move in every game he has thought
up. He then divides the entire guests into two teams. He sets up
forts, cardboard figures, all sorts of things I know nothing about.
Dogs are chained up, those that aren’t already hiding under beds
because they have suspected something in his pre game preparations.
Son-in-law and
daughters mow yards, pick up trash, cook, carry in food, and try to
remove any un-game debris. Collect chairs for the non-combatants and
the combatants when they wear out. Sometimes a radio for music. My
son-in-law cooks the hot dogs, hamburgers and whatever else can go on
the grill. I’m pretty much a vegetarian, except on this day. By the
time food is ready I will eat whatever. I am tired and hungry.
I sometimes clean house in case it rains or someone wants a drink of
water or needs to use the facilities. This year I only got the
kitchen and bathroom unpiled. The rest of the house is being used for
sorting books for the Book Room, which I hope to open next Thursday,
Maybe. So I just told the gang, only two rooms. It didn’t rain
which was good. Very Good.
On
that day we play, eat, talk and share. We don’t always get together
the whole entire bunch at Christmas, Easter or Thanksgiving anymore
because no one’s house is big enough. So this is our bash.
On
the day of the big event, grandson holds a strategic meeting with the
combatants. He assigns teams, explains the rules, the strategy,
though I understand that each team is allowed to make their own
rules. The little ones, from barely able to walk, sit in awed silence
and listen to every word. He is their leader. They respect him and
want to do well. He assigns them accordingly. This year the youngest
in the games was 7. A younger child just ate.
There is a
break, maybe, to eat. My grandson never eats. Once in a blue moon. We
usually don’t have them on Memorial day anyway. Then they play.
Until everyone is beyond exhaustion. Mean while my son-in-law cooks
and cooks. We eat, drink pop and iced tea. We don’t drink much
alcohol. Never at family gatherings. This is too serious for that.
Most of us don’t drink anyway. But if we did we would put up a
sign, no drinking allowed. I mean minds must be clear. The horses
hide in the woods. The cats scatter somewhere. Sometimes it is days
before they appear again. The squirrels stay in trees; the raccoons
and rabbits stay in their little lairs; the birds get as high in
their trees as they can go. They tweet out warnings and, I think, a
lot of cursing.
The final act
of the day is to gather around a fire and fix Smores, or toast our
own hot dogs, and talk, tell stories, have grave political, food, or
health conversations, exchange recipes, ghost stories, or just plain
bitch about the world. One by one people disappear into their cars
and go home.
I am always the
die-hard. I sit around the fire until the fire burns out. This year
my grandson stayed awhile and we talked about the world situation and
why local, state and federal politicians do not listen to our wisdom.
Some new friends arrived and we talked about religion and how they
are the same and different. They left. He and I talked a long time.
Then he left. He works long hard shifts, and we don’t get to talk
much. I value his opinions and his love. I always sit up until the
fire is out. Sometimes it is almost daylight.
I sit up
because I think of all my family who aren’t with us in physical
form any longer. There is no longer any relative that I know who is
older and still alive than me. No one to call to ask how they fixed
that pie or cake or if they remember what Grandma or Uncle so and so
said at Christmas or Memorial. No memories of my family to listen to of the older generation. Just a few cousins, I am now the elder.
So I think
of them and discuss them with their shades that come to sit around
the fire. (Don’t deny it. We all do it.) And I remember. My
memorial and their Memorial is their lives as I observed them growing
up, the wonderful things they taught me. The genes I think I
inherited. Reproduced in my children and grandchildren and the fact
that we gather for our own Memorial day as part of a celebration for
a grandson, nephew that some of them never held in their arms, sang a
song to, told stories but somehow has a little of the tribe inside
him. So do we all.
Happy
birthday to anyone having birthdays around this time. Happy Memorial
Day to all we remember in our family and to every man and woman who
fought and died for this country. Also, since I am a Quaker, to all
of those who died for peace, for everyone who worked so hard to bring
food, clothing, jobs and everything else people need to survive and
have peace. And who died in prison for their faith and beliefs. Such
simple humanitarian beliefs, in not taking off their hats to any man
because no one man was better than another. Not swearing on the Bible
because the Bible said you should not do that. Being against slavery
because no one should own another person. And maybe one of the most
controversial, not fighting in war. They taught that kings make war.
Men don’t. In those times all of these beliefs took courage. Some
seem so ridiculous now. You have to wonder if they didn’t help form
freedom of religion in this and other countries, make the world a
better place. We don’t swear on the bible anymore in court, we
affirm. Men don’t have to remove their hats in the presence of
“their betters”. We don’t believe, at least openly, in our
betters. And war is still with us. But kings still make wars and men
and women fight them is still with us. It all depends on who the
kings are. Shalom.
