Lest We Forget

General John Logan

me·mo·ri·al

  [muh-mawr-ee-uhl, -mohr-]  Show IPA

noun

1.

something designed to preserve the memory of a person, event,etc., as a monument or a holiday.

2.

a written statement of facts presented to a sovereign, alegislative body, etc., as the ground of, or expressed in the formof, a petition or remonstrance.

adjective

3.

preserving the memory of a person or thing; commemorative:memorial services.

4.

of or pertaining to the memory.

Origin: 

1350–1400; Middle English  < Late Latin memoriāle,  noun use of neuterof Latin memoriālis  for or containing memoranda. See memory, -al¹

We have Armed Forces Day to honor those serving in the military. We have Veteran's Day to honor those who served and survived. I thank you for putting you lives on the line for freedom. However, it seems  some have forgotten the reason for the day off the last Monday in May.    

Originally referred to as Decoration Day, Memorial Day was a day of reconciliation and a coming together to honor fallen Civil War soldiers. In 1868, General John Logan officially proclaimed the need of a day of remembrance. It was first observed on 30 May 1868. Flowers were placed on all the Union and Confederate soldiers' graves. 

In 1873, New York state was to first recognize Memorial Day. By 1890 all the Northern states did. The South, however, refused to recognize it until after World War I. Until then, they chose to honor their fallen soldiers separately. After World War I, it was changed to honor all American wars. The actual birthplace of Memorial Day is considered Waterloo, New York. In May of 1966, Lyndon B. Johnson declared it a national holiday.

We cherish too the Poppy red 
That goes on fields when valor led, 
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
                             ~Moina Michael

Traditional observance of Memorial day has diminished over the years. Many Americans nowadays have forgotten the meaning and traditions of Memorial Day. At many cemeteries, the graves of the fallen are increasingly ignored, neglected. Most people no longer remember the proper flag etiquette for the day. While there are towns and cities that still hold Memorial Day parades, many have not held a parade in decades. Some people think the day is for honoring any and all dead, and not just those fallen in service to our country

On January 19, 1999 Senator Inouye introduced bill S 189 to the Senate which proposes to restore the traditional day of observance of Memorial Day back to May 30th instead of "the last Monday in May". On April 19, 1999 Representative Gibbons introduced the bill to the House (H.R. 1474). The bills were referred the Committee on the Judiciary and the Committee on Government Reform. To this day, the bill has not been past.

In December 2000, our nation was asked that on Memorial Day, at 3:00 PM, a National Moment of Remembrance be observed in silence or listening to Taps. 

I've been lucky. Not one member of my family who was in the military perished in battle but, I will spend my day, remembering yours.

dictionary.com

http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html

Gather around to see the world in living color!

Up until the late sixties, everything outside of our world was black and white. Or so we were lead to believe when we gathered around the family television set. I Love Lucy, Gunsmoke, Flipper and The Ed Sullivan Show. Walter Cronkite gave us the news of Vietnam in black and white. On Sunday nights we watched Wagon Train and The Wonderful World of Disney. Then it happened...color.

Grandma and Grandpa had the first colored set in our family. I remember the first time I ever saw the NBC peacock in color! Wow! We had been told by both parents and grandparents that if we napped during the day, we could stay late that first Sunday evening to watch Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. Mr. Disney explained how they would have the same great programming but in color. He then turned the program over to Professor Ludwig Von Drake. 

Each year, when the income tax came, my parents bought a large, expensive item. It was our family tradition.  It might be a refrigerator, stove, or washer. You get the idea. The year came when the return was used for a 19" portable colored television.

Back when color was new, everyone seemed to be an expert on adjusting the color. The rule of thumb was to adjust the red on the picture, never on a person's face. It was a Sunday afternoon when dad decided the color was just not right. After several minutes, he announced, "There, the color is perfect!". He was right, the grass on the golf tournament was a perfect emerald green. I have often since wondered, "Is the sky really that color purple in Florida?"

Bus Stop

She was found under a secluded rural bus stop sign.  She held tight to a stuffed toy and a wooden pop gun. The blood on the apron of her dress already changed from bright red to a muddy brown.  The police are gone.  All the evidence they needed has been bagged and tagged. 

The five year old girl sits in the corner of Dr. Wyckoff’s office holding her stuffed toy in a death grip.  She rocks back and forth; sucking on her thumb.  Inaudible sounds can be heard coming from her but no one can make out what she is saying.  That is, if she is really saying anything at all.  Wyckoff calls in one of the nursing staff to have the girl shown her room.  He wants her back in his office in an hour. 

An hour later she sits in the chair opposite the doctor.  She is still rocking, still mumbling incoherently. Wyckoff watches her closely.  He decides hypnosis will be the best way to get information from little Miss Jane Doe.  He is certain this will be the fastest way to get through to her.  He has seen trauma cases like this before.

She watches the doctor as he gets ready to hypnotize her.  He interests her. He turns on a recorder while he explains to her what will happen and that he will be recording the session. He calls her Jane and asks her to relax.  How much more can she relax?  She’s almost asleep.  He asks her to look at the tip of his pen as he continues to ask her to relax and tells her she is very sleepy.  

Dr. Wyckoff asks her the same question she has been asked a dozen times since she was brought here, “What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone.” She’s mute, but tells him in her thoughts.

“We can’t call you Jane forever.  Your parents gave you a name.  What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone!” She thinks the man may be hard of hearing. 

“Can you tell me your mommy and daddy’s names?”

“Honey and Sweetheart.”

Jane continues to stare at him. 

“Let’s go back in time.  Let’s go back to a couple hours before you were found at the bus stop.  What happened then?”

“I killed Jeremy.”

“What is your name?”

“I’ve told you, Tessa Greystone.”

“Go back a few days before.  What are you doing?”

“Telling Jeremy what happened to Abby. I killed her.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Tessa Greystone.”

“I want you to think back before that.  What happened at that time?”

Tessa sighs. “I killed King, the dog next door. Oh, and the cat, Billy. Have you seen my mommy and daddy?”

“What is your name?”

“TESSA GREYSTONE!!”

Dr. Wyckoff tells her she can wake up.  He calls for the nurse to come take her to her room.  He settles himself at his desk to listen to the recording before sending it to transcription. He is shocked by what he hears.

“Tessa Greystone.” She doesn't speak aloud, but in her thoughts.

“We can’t call you Jane forever.  Your parents gave you a name.  What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone!” She thinks the man may be hard of hearing. 

“Can you tell me your mommy and daddy’s names?”

“Honey and Sweetheart.”

He listens to the rest of the recording.  Wyckoff calls nursing to have Jane Doe, Tessa, back to his office. She is back in her seat, staring into space.  He hits the recorder start. 

“Tessa, I have heard your answers.”

“I didn’t think you heard me.”

“Tessa, I have one more question for you.  Why did you kill those animals and people?”

“Fluffy was hungry.” Tessa holds her stuffed toy closer.

Dr. Wyckoff stops the recorder, rewinds and listens.  He calls the duty nurse to sit with Tessa as he calls the police and child protective services. As the little girl is being carried away, the stuffed toy falls to the floor. 

The doctor rewinds the recorder to the beginning.  He’s decided not to leave this progress report to transcription. He hadn't realized the recorder had been on when Tessa was being taken away.

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING FLUFFY!?” The small voice had wailed.

The doctor’s jaw drops as he turns around to see what he thought was the stuffed toy with the gun pointed to his head. His scream was never heard when the gun popped. 

“Fluffy will be hungry.”

 

Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

    It was many and many a year ago,
          In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
          By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
          Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
          In this kingdom by the sea;
    But we loved with a love that was more than love-
          I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
          Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
          In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
          My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn kinsman came
          And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
          In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
          Went envying her and me-
    Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
          In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
          Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
          Of those who were older than we-
          Of many far wiser than we-
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
          Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
          In the sepulchre there by the sea,
          In her tomb by the sounding sea.

A Thanksgiving To Remember

This is the time of year that we all give thanks, or at least that is the theory, for the blessings we have. My thought had always been that while heads were bowed during grace, the blessings are for more material things. Mom is giving thanks that her best china hasn't been broken to pieces, Dad is giving thanks that as soon as this is over he can take a nap before the football game. Bradley is giving thanks that he found a part for his car, Bella is giving thanks that she's not pregnant and little Billy is giving thanks that he can play his video games when all this family stuff is over.

Years ago I worked on the pediatric ward of one of our local hospitals. Now I know many of you are thinking, how sad, all those sick children. True, it could be very sad. But, as Art Linkletter used to say (yes, I am old) "Kids say the darnedest things".

This tale is not, however, not a happy one. It is the story of a little four year old Arabian girl who touched my heart in such a way that I will never forget her.

It was this time of the year and on the pediatric floor we were very busy. It's the middle of respiratory season. Children with asthma, sinus infections and chronic bronchitis are the main admissions. You can walk onto the floor and almost hear the oxygen tents at work. It was my year to work Thanksgiving and my shift began at three o'clock. Because of the holiday, several of the children had been discharged earlier in the day and most were expected to leave during my shift.

After, what would be considered the dinner hour, admissions called stating they had a child to be admitted with a fracture caused by a fall at her uncle's home. She was visiting from nearby Toronto in Canada for the holiday. Oh, she was tiny and timid, obviously scared to death. All I kept thinking was, here is this poor little girl, in a strange country surrounded by all these people poking and prodding, not understanding a word we said. How frightening that must be.

It was during the admission process while I was getting her into a gown, that I noticed a red marking on her back, a welt you might say. The welt was about an inch and a half wide and approximately four or five inches long. Of course, this was pointed out to my charge nurse who immediately called on the attending resident to look at. To all of us, this looked like it was done by a belt. This gets the ball rolling with Child Protective Services (CPS) in a heartbeat. I was asked to stay with her until her family returned from completing the admissions process. I picked her up, took her to the rocker and sat there with her, stroking her hair, humming and telling her that everything would be just fine, no one would hurt her again. She, of course, didn't understand the words I was saying but I believe she did understand the tears in my eyes and my gentle touch.

Her mother, back from admissions, took a chair but made no move to comfort the child. She sat there with her eyes darting back and forth like a scared rabbit. This really was not unusual. Many of the women I had encountered over the years at the hospital from Yemen or any of the Arabian countries do not speak English. I looked at her, smiled what I'd hoped would be a comforting smile, letting her know that everything would be fine. No sense speaking the words she wouldn't understand. Her uncle was the next to enter the room and the child tensed so much that I knew in my heart that he was the one that had done this to her.

When the resident came in to speak with the family, I gave her to her mother and left the room. I immediately expressed my thoughts to my charge nurse and asked that we move her to the "fishbowl" to keep an eye, not only on her, but her uncle. The "fishbowl" is what we called the observation room across from the nurses station. It's comprised of all windows and used most of the time for seizure patients. My spot at the nurse's station was directly across from this room and I kept a close watch to what was going on in there. This was one time my nosy nature was a blessing. I noticed the behavior of her with each family member, and each time her uncle came into the room she'd manage to get out of there and come running to me. It seemed I'd become her safe haven.

It finally came out that the uncle had sexually abused her, gave her the whipping and pushed her down the stairs as a warning as to what would happen to her if she ever told anyone what he had done.

This little one, that touched me so, nominated me as Employee of the Month (I lost to the groundskeeper. Mowing the lawn is so much more important than what I was doing), sent me cards and drawings. She came to visit me a few months later to give me the greatest of all her gifts, in English she said "Thank you". Suddenly, the cards and pictures stopped. I received word though her mother (just try and find someone to translate Arabic when you need to) that her uncle was released and beat her to death.

So each year, when my head is bowed in prayer, I think of that little one, who so many years ago changed the blessings I count.

A Visit From St. Nicholas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

 

Morry's Gift

Chances are there was a monster under your bed or in your closet when you were a kid.  In all likelihood, it had been there since you were born.  The job of this monster was to break your will and spirit just before you stopped believing in it.  For most of you, age seven was the magic age when you stopped believing.  Once it wore you down, saw you crumble; it got new orders and was sent on its merry way.

Maurice’s last assignment was a little boy, Jimmy, whose spirit was never broken.  He was a fearless little boy.  His dad called him “Red Chief” after a character in an old O’Henry story Jimmy’s dad loved as a kid. 

It was Halloween when Jimmy confronted Maurice, Morry for short, about the facts of a monster’s job.  Jimmy made a deal with him that night.  Since Morry knew he would never break Jimmy’s spirit, he agreed.  The deal was to leave Jimmy for greener pastures.  He promised Morry the job would not only be easy but entertaining.  His Halloween gift to Morry was Boris.

Boris was a classmate of Jimmy’s.  He picked on Jimmy and his friend, Billy, on a daily basis.  Boris was the class bully.

After he came home from trick or treating, Boris gave the bag to his dad to check the candy.  He kissed his mom and went up to his room.

Boris barely heard his dad call after him, “Sport, you don’t want any candy?”

He didn’t say a word; just shook his head.  As he pulled off his costume he saw something move in the corner of his eye.  It was probably nothing but a shadow.  It was Halloween.  You were supposed to be spooked. 

The next morning he saw Jimmy and Billy as they walked passed the house.  He wasn’t in the mood to pick on them.   Percy, his older brother, beat him up again.  Boris couldn’t wait until he was old enough to get even with him.  On top of that, he saw the shadow go under the bed again. 

Time moved on and Boris began to see the shadow more and more.  He had begun to think he was losing his mind.  Just before spring vacation started, something had begun tugging at his blankets. 

Boris bolted up in bed, “Percy, if you don’t stop I’m gonna pound you!”

Percy did not respond to the threat.  Boris was relieved.  He didn’t want to deal with him tonight.  He crawled under the blankets and hugged his pillow.  Silent tears began to run down his face.  His parents had been fighting again when he came home. Before too long, Boris was asleep.

Morry saw the toes first.  The toes were short and pudgy.  He was ready to run his nail down the bottom of Boris’s foot when he heard a sob.  He didn’t think Boris was the bully he made himself out to be outside the walls of his house.  In fact, he knew it. 

Morry had learned over the past months that Boris was a sad little boy.  If Jimmy had known, heck if Morry had known Boris was not the bully he pretended to be, the deal would have never happened.  Tonight Boris was told his parents were getting separating.  His dad was moving to the other side of town.  Percy told him if their parent got a divorce, it would be his fault. 

Morry had seen everything on this job.  Boris was not the first kid whose parents separated.  He decided Boris needed help and he was just the monster to do it.  Morry first needed to talk to Jimmy. He silently slurked out the window into the night.

Jimmy stopped wrapping himself like a mummy when Morry left.  Morry took advantage of it.  His nail ran down the length of the bottom of Jimmy’s foot.  Jimmy bolted straight up in bed. 

“Morry?” Jimmy croaked.

“Yes.  Jimmy, we need to talk about Boris.  And I need a favor from you.  This seems only fair.  I did do one for you.” Morry made himself at home on the end of the bed.

“Sure, what is it?” Jimmy answered.  He remembered last Halloween when the deal was made.  He did owe one to Morry.  He’d been with Boris for about six months.  He thought maybe Morry had come to tell him the job was done and was coming back. 

“It’s about Boris.  I would like you and Billy to befriend him.  Close your mouth Jimmy.  Boris is having a very hard time.  He really is just a scared little boy.” Jimmy snapped his mouth shut and continued to listen.

Morry told him Boris was bullied by older brother, Percy.  He mentioned the fighting between his parents. Then Morry told Jimmy about Boris’s parents.

“Jimmy, this kid has no spirit to break.  He was broken when I moved under the bed.  His, by the way is completely neat and tidy compared to yours.” Morry ducked his head under the bed as he said this; his voice muffled.

He popped back up and said, “You and Billy start hanging with him a little. I’m going to do my best to talk to him.  You know, set him straight.  Maybe I should go into the counseling business.”

Morry was out the window before Jimmy could register a response.

When Morry returned to Boris’s room, he noticed that pudgy foot again.  He took action.  He ran his nail on the bottom of his foot. His foot twitched. Morry did it again.  Boris woke just as Morry was about to just shake him awake. 

“Hey, kid.  We need to have a monster to bully talk.”

Boris sat there with his eyes wide and mouth open.  Morry placed his pointed nail under Boris’s chin and gently pushed it shut. 

“What is with you boys and your mouths hanging open? It makes you all look a bit like goldfish. Don’t answer; I truly do not want to know. Let me introduce myself.  I am Maurice.  And if you don’t blink soon, I will be forced to eat you.”

Boris blinked.

“Thank you.  You may call me Morry.  I’m the monster who lives under your bed.  Normally, I would be sent to you as a baby.  Then I would wait for your seventh year and basically turn you into a sniveling little boy.  You, however, were a gift to me. 

“I’d been told you are a bit of a bully.  No, that’s not right.  You are a bully.  I’ve spent months under your bed and I have to tell you, you are not good at it.  What you are is a frightened little boy.  I have decided to give you some advice.”

“On being a bully?” Boris managed to sputter.

“No. No. No.  I could give you lessons of course; but you are not cut from the right cloth for it.  No.  I’m going to tell you how things really are.  First, about your parents and the fighting; grownups do that. It comes from stress.  Grownup stuff.  It comes from the frustration you get when something happens and you have no control over it.”  Morry looked at Boris.  The kid wasn’t getting it. He was seriously thinking of exchanging this gift.

“Let me put it this way.  When your parents are arguing, you are unable to do anything to stop it.  You have been taught your entire seven years to respect your parents.  That’s a very good thing.  Unfortunately, you cannot fight back.  So what does little Boris do?  He wipes the tears and goes out and picks on other little kids.  That’s going to stop.” Morry inspected his nails.

Boris began to whimper, “The kids don’t like me.”

“Of course they don’t kid.  Tell me, do you like it when Percy picks on you?” 

“I hate it.”

“Everyone hates to be picked on.  It’s the number one reason the other kids aren’t too fond of you.  But, like I said, the bully act is going to stop.  Once you do, the other kids will start seeing you for who you really are.”

“Do you really think so?”  Boris was beginning to get his hopes up. 

“I do.  Now, about your parents getting a separating…”

“Uhhhh”, moaned Boris.

“Hear me out on this one kid.  That is not exactly the worst thing that can happen.” Morry saw Boris was going to protest and held a hand in front of his face to get him to stop.  He noticed he needed more scum under some of the nails.

“I see and hear things you don’t.  By the way, Percy is an idiot.  You are not the cause of your parents separating.  I would love more than anything to tell you its Percy’s fault. I really don’t like that kid.  The fault belongs to no one.  It happens.  But I know, after your mom and dad are apart for awhile, things will get better.  The fighting will stop.  They will get along much better.  The sad part of the whole mess will be Percy.  He’ll still be here.”  Morry had plans for Percy.

Boris sat straight in his bed, “Really?  Do you think everything will be okay?  Mom and Dad don’t blame me? They really don’t?” Boris sniffed. “And you are right about Percy.  He is a jerk.  I’m just not big enough to get him back.”

“You will be alright Boris.  You’ll see.  Now I have to take care of my next assignment.” Morry gave Boris a thumb up as he slipped out the window.

Boris sniffled again.  As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Percy scream. 

The next morning at breakfast, he heard Percy coming down the stairs.  He closed his eyes and waited for the morning blow to the back of his head.  It never came. With one eye open he looked at Percy.  He had dark circles under his eyes.  He looked pale.  He stood there shaking and just stared off into space.  Boris had an idea who Morry’s next job was.

Boris grabbed his books.  When he had opened the door to leave, there stood Jimmy and Billy. 

“Hey Boris, walk with us to school.” Jimmy and Billy said at the same time.  They turned into the school yard when the three of them saw Chloe, the new girl from their class. She tossed her hair as they looked her way. Boris gave her a shy wave then caught up with his new friends.