memorial

Memorial Day, growing up, was always very simple and predictable. I loved it. Well, I may not have loved it at the time, but I love now the rigid tradition of it. I remember going to my great-grandmother's (June) house in Tooele(while she was alive), picking flowers from her rose garden and filling up mason jars with them, then heading to the Tooele cemetary to place them on familial graves. It was a good time for hearing stories about people I'd never met and learning what they'd been like. Lots of sad stories but the one's the always pricked me were both about June. Her first baby died in infancy, presumably from a botched delivery, and her husband died of appendicitis (sceptic infection) before her fourth child was born. I think it is good for a girl of 9 years to cry over things that happened 50 years before.

It was a good time for getting a feel of who I was and where I came from. And we nearly always visited the grave of a friend of my grandma who had died as a teenager in a car accident (in the days before seat belts). I don't remember his name, but I remember where his grave is in the cemetary. I sometimes feel protective of him, and I'm not the only one among my cousins who insists he not be forgotten when we visit. Well, as of 3 years ago.

This spending Memorial Day in PA thing kind of stinks. I'd really like to give my kids the same expectations for memorial day that I grew up with. I thought about going to a local cemetary and beflowering forgotten graves, but since I have no dirt and thus no flowers of my own that was an expensive (and unpopular) proposal.

Instead we chilled. We are good at chilling. Sir O has become very protective of his brother. I rarely beat Sir O to a crying Captain.
Park = Sir O finding new ways to climb on things.
Happiness = Watching all my boys enjoy each other during magic hour. (Minus the mosquitos).
I think we'll keep him.