Ken’s e-Pistle

May 29, 2024

We had a marvelous time around the house on Memorial Day. About a dozen of us gathered to mark the unofficial beginning of summer with the traditional cookout and pot-luck Sharing of the Salads. This latter part a brief nod to those of our company who have resolved to eat in a more healthy way. As you can imagine, I participated in their quest with less zeal than I usually display for a hamburger (double, please, with cheese!) and potato chips (real chips, please. No baked, low sodium or made from riced cauliflower). I took a bit of each offering with the exception of the one featuring some incarnation of tofu. Hey, it’s my house! If George Bush can draw the line on broccoli, I can darn sure do the same with tofu!

As is our tradition, we spared a few moments to remember the reason for the holiday. I brought out a shadow box containing memorabilia of my father’s from his service on the Second World War. He served in the Army Air Corps, the forerunner to today’s Air Force. He was a radio operator on a C-47, delivering supplies to the front in Europe and bringing back our wounded and prisoners. He spent a good bit of time doing the same thing in North Africa and made several trips to Brazil without being told what the mission entailed. I guess sometimes having low rank has its privileges, also! The shadow box contains a picture of him as an Army Air Corps Cadet, complete with leather helmet, goggles and scarf, his dog-tags, air crew wings, and assorted medals, most of which he earned by behaving himself and surviving the war.

It seems a sad part of our history that no generation escapes unscathed from the ravages of war. Quite a few of my relatives and friends died in Vietnam. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have taken their toll and left shattered lives and families in their wake. A quick glance at the headlines lets us know that other potential fields of conflict are on the horizon. All of this is to say that the need to observe Memorial Day will only grow in the coming years.

And so we pause in the midst of festival fullness. We bow our heads in gratitude and memory, trying desperately to ignore the darkening clouds of history as they billow in from an uncertain horizon. If we have only a shred of humanity, we hope for the promised day when swords will be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. Until then…

Peace to the fallen.