I grew up in the Midwest. We lived in town and had grandparents that lived in the country. City living gave us culture and the advantages which benefit, from higher education. We had the rural roots and common sense, fresh air and produce from the farm. We had the best of both worlds. I especially loved the fall, autumn, falling leaves and colors, crisp apple cider and crisp air, ripening, harvest, plenty and well, just that whole cornucopia idea of, abundance. A familiar phrase to me as a child growing up, just set the whole season into mind and motion. Just a few words gave me the visual promotion or concept of autumn – “when the frost is on the punkin.” Yes, I do know how to spell pumpkin, but “punkin,” is how the word was first pronounced to me. I am not sure where I first heard this. Perhaps it was our mother, from her mother or father, our grandparents? Both of our Mom’s parents were from large farming families so, you might expect the word “punkin” to be proper pronunciation for the farm, country, and the south. Pumpkin would be correct, for the formally educated, the city dwellers, the landlubbers or as a friend refers to me since I am a new transplant to the “country,” a “flatlander.” Well, I think it is pretty obvious as to what “frost on the punkin” means. Pumpkins turn their bright orange color in the fall and while still not winter, the nights and days can be quite cool. Elementary science taught us that something freezes at 32°F. Frost can occur on the ground, on leaves, and yes, even pumpkins at higher temperatures from 32-say-36 or 37°F. So, “frost on the punkin,” means, it’t chilly outside. It’s time for my favorite olympic sport of, raking leaves and jumping into the piles. Not to mention pumpkin eats and drinks, OMG it’s AUTUMN!!! 🙂 I’ve used this phrase for most of my life. Recently, I used it and some people had never heard of it. So, I thought, maybe it is a Midwest or a southern expression; not known to us northerners? Yes, I included myself as a northerner, since I live here in New York, even though I was born and raised in the Midwest. Well, again with the well, well, how deep is this well? Where did this expression come from? I consulted with the oldest trivia, where-did-that-come-from expression expert, our local home-spun-poetry committed to memory aficionado and my fellow poetry-lover kindred spirit, Aunt Anne Magar (Bab’s) [pronounced: Bob’s]. She’s 91 and sharp as a tack. So I put it to her, “Aunt Bab’s,” I said, “have you ever heard the expression, “frost on the punkin?” “Oh, sure,” she said grinning confidently, “It is from a poem. You should look it up!” So I did. It was written by James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
“There is an interesting incident about how Riley’s job was once saved because he had written “When the Frost Is On the Punkin, and the Fodder’s In the Shock.” It is in a book written by Riley’s friend John A. Howland entitled, “James Whitcomb Riley: Prose and Pictures.””
“Riley, as a young Greenfield man, had had a hard time finding a niche in the world since he did not care to follow his father in the practice of law. He sold Bibles, painted signs, entertained in a medicine show, always coming to a dead end. His mother died in 1870 and he felt he could not bear to stay in Greenfield so he went here and there seeking newspaper employment. He ran into E.B. Martindale of “The Indianapolis Journal” whom he later called, “my first literary patron,” who added him to the staff of the paper to write poetry. Some of these poems appeared on the first page of the Journal under the nom de plume “Benjamin F. Johnson of Boone,” supposedly an old farmer. As they were well received, Riley emerged from under his disguise, writing poems such as “When the Frost is on the Punkin.””
“In a short while after Riley joined the paper, a gentleman named Halford was appointed manager of the Journal. One of his first ideas was to cut down on expenses of the paper, and he was considering Riley as his first victim to get the ax. It so happened that a political convention was held in Indianapolis at this very time. One of the candidates nominated for office was a big burly fellow who had never made a speech in his life.”
“When he got up to accept his nomination, his mind went blank and he could not utter a word. The pounding and cheering went on until in desperation he blurted out, “The ticket you have nominated here is going to win “when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.” This Riley poem had just been published a few days before. in the newspaper.”
“The applause that greeted these words showed that most of these prominent men had read Riley’s work and approved of it. Halford kept him on, and he became an established poet.”
I share the lines with you below and a wonderful oral reading by a man from a You Tube video. I believe you will understand every word below, when you hear him recite it; understand why his father wanted him to share it with strangers each year and you, will understand, “frost on the punkin,” as I now do! Thank You Aunt Bab’s! 🙂 Donnie
“When the Frost is on the Punkin”
James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
You have sung in your cage, sung in Your release and now You sing, flying free! I cannot offer up Your praise and give words of your many accomplishments. There are many others that knew You, knew You well and that can do the far better telling. I can only shed my own tears of the sad and of the joy. I can only say here, what You mean to me. I call You Maya because, it’s deeply personal and You are this to me, as if I have always known You, though I have never met You, though as if I have! We are not related. Our skins and sins are not the same. We came here to life at different times. All that I may leave here pales, to what, You have left. But I love You and I know You loved me because, You lived!
Your first book, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,’ set You not upon your path, but it brought many to you and my seeking heart to your path and with your smile, You bid any and all, welcome!
Maya’s 1st book
I always thought of You as my dear and trusted aunt, though I never had the privilege of meeting You. You were born in my home state of Missouri. You lived in Arkansas and I first met of You, when I lived there. I will never forget Your performance in the 1995 movie, ‘How to Make an American Quilt!’ You had only a small part. You did neither write it nor directed it. You were not its narrator. Your character was Anna. You told the story of, “the story quilt.” You are the “story quilt.” You were the master quilter and brought every person into this story. And it is brilliant and so deep and has so many meanings on so many levels. It was more than about a quilt for one woman. It was more than just about women or a movie for women. It was about people, all people. Ignorance makes us all slaves to something or to someone. But together are we freed, WE the many different and beautiful “shreds,” make up ‘An American Quilt!’ ‘An American Quilt,’ is by far, my favorite movie of all time. To me, You were the whole movie! I cannot imagine it being written, directed, acted or presented without You. All the great acting, music and sets were the background. You are its subject. You are the quilting needle; WE are the quilt!
“It’s a story quilt. It’s meant to be read.”
“That summer the Grasse quilting bee did something they’ve never done before. Anna called everyone back and wouldn’t let them go home until they finished the quilt. They all worked [straight through the night] sustained by Anna’s will and gallons of ice tea.”
Young lovers seek perfection.
Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together
and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches
“As Anna says about making a quilt, you have to choose your combination carefully. The right choices will enhance your quilt. The wrong choices will dull the colors, hide their original beauty. There are no rules you can follow. You have to go by your instinct. And you have to be brave.”
excerpts from the transcript: ‘An American Quilt’
I hear You and see You and feel You in every frame of the whole movie and in the following video clip.
Your last Tweet on Twitter:
Your last personal Facebook post was typical of, your concern for others
Maya’s FB Profile
Maya Angelou
May 26, 2014
“And now we come to the day [Memorial Day] where we can honor the brave men and women who have risked their lives to honor our country and our principles. Our history is rife with citizens who care and who are courageous enough to say we care for those who went before us.”
You earned three Grammys, spoke six languages, and were the second poet in history to recite a poem at a presidential inauguration. You received two Presidential Medals of Honor from two separate presidents, one for Art and the most important, for Freedom.
On Thursday, May 28, 2014, you took your last breath and I was breathless when I knew.
On your Facebook page:
Your FB profile
Statement from Dr. Maya Angelou’s Family:
Dr. Maya Angelou passed quietly in her home before 8:00 a.m. EST. Her family is extremely grateful that her ascension was not belabored by a loss of acuity or comprehension. She lived a life as a teacher, activist, artist and human being. She was a warrior for equality, tolerance and peace. The family is extremely appreciative of the time we had with her and we know that she is looking down upon us with love.
Guy B. Johnson
You were a beautiful young girl, a beautiful young woman, a beautiful woman, and a beautiful lady in Your glorious sunset! There is no place for a beautiful mind to be shone, than shining out and upon, from within!
My favorite poem of Yours, I will share here to follow. You meant a lot to me personally, and I will greatly miss Your presence on this earth and in the life that I have left!
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou, 1928 – 2014
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Cradle
by Dahni
How does one summarize the impact of a single life? Indeed, there have been countless books penned, poems and paintings that have tried to capture this deep enigma. Perhaps the smallest sentence to have ever seized all the emotion of loss comes from the Bible,
“Jesus Wept!”
William Shakespeare from ‘King Lear,’ concluded a single life simply and plainly with the words,
“He died!”
But the things penned, the poems, the paeans, and paintings all try to show the eons of time, events and unique forming that brought forth the birth of a single life. And then they try to show the waves and connections and spheres of influence from all the moments and all the years of a single life. And thus a summing up of all that are touched by this single life may simply and plainly conclude –
They Lived!
No one can escape tears sometimes. Sometimes these droplets of one’s measured life are of great joy. Sometimes these droplets of one’s measured life are of great sorrow. The push of sorrow and the pull of joy is this not like a crib and are we not cradled of love? A life enters and exits, but leaves a cradle rocking. The push and pull continues. Turn the page, keep reading. Pen, poem and paint. Rock the cradle, for the point is
We live!
Note: a “paean” – any song of joy, praise or triumph
Even more than my ‘Cradle’ poem, You taught me to always trust love –
“Have enough courage to trust love one more time
and always one more time.”
Maya Angelou
Even more than my ‘Cradle’ poem, You taught me that all of us are shackled or we bear the scars of something that enslaves. But my favorite words from You are, only two.
“Love Liberates”
Maya Angelou
You sang in Your cage. You sang when Your caged was opened. You sing now in freedom’s flight. Many will fly because, of You.
Today marks the official, 43rd year of observing Memorial Day, as a federal holiday beginning in 1971. It could be the 149th, 148th, 147th or 146th, depending on who you are, what you believe and where you are from. There are no less than a dozen cities, organizations and persons that it has been attributed to or claim it and that they, he or she was the first to come up with the name and or to celebrate the event for the first time. Indeed, a study or personal research undertaken, as to the histories and origins of Memorial Day, will reveal very much, interesting information. That last sentence was highly understated!
The stories range from it began in the south to no, it was the north from after the American Civil War. Some say no, it began earlier than that. Some say it started in Columbus, Georgia, but Columbus, Mississippi, highly disagrees with that, because they say they were first.
Francis Miles Finch (June 9, 1827 – July 31, 1907) was an American judge, poet, and academic associated with the early years of Cornell University. Finch wrote poetry throughout his life. Perhaps his best known poem, “The Blue and the Gray”, written in remembrance of the dead of the American Civil War, was inspired by a women’s memorial association in Columbus, Mississippi, who on April 25, 1866 tended the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers, treating the dead as equals despite the lingering rancor of the war.
The Blue and the Gray
By Francis Miles Finch
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray.
These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.
So with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done,
In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
Though this is a beautiful poem and memory, some believe Memorial Day was inspired by a southern woman and others say it was a northern military officer. Then there is a town in my state, Waterloo, NY that have honored the day since May 5th, 1866. To this, president Lyndon Johnson directed the federal government to recognize Waterloo, NY in 1971, as the birthplace of Memorial Day? You cannot say that the president, a southerner, was biased, being Waterloo, NY, is, in the north. But hold on, wait just a minute.
Some believe and would like the rest of us to believe that the ceremonies in April of 1865, might have begun what has come to be known as Memorial Day? Remember Fort Sumter? It was a fort off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina, long used in defense of the city. For all practical reasons, Fort Sumter is where the American Civil War began. It seemed kind of fitting to include it in the memory, after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, which unofficially ended the war between the states. Indeed, the same year, the flag of the United States would fly over Fort Sumter. All kinds of ceremonies were planned and implemented on the island, to honor the dead, the end of hostilities and the long reconciliatory process which was beginning, between the north and the south. This all happened on April 15, 1865. Later the same day and this same year, in Washington, D.C., president Abraham Lincoln was assassinated at Ford’s Theater.
But hold on again, wait just another minute. What about the story of prisoners of war that had died in captivity in Charleston, South Carolina and were honored on May 1, 1865? Was this the beginning of Memorial Day?
“During the war, Union soldiers who were prisoners of war had been held at the Charleston Race Course and were hastily buried in unmarked graves. Together with teachers and missionaries, black residents of Charleston organized a May Day ceremony, covered by the New York Tribune and other national papers. The freedmen cleaned up and landscaped the burial ground, building, an enclosure and an arch labeled, “Martyrs of the Race Course.” Nearly ten thousand people, mostly freedmen, gathered on May 1 to commemorate the war dead. Involved were about 3,000 school children newly enrolled in freedmen’s schools, mutual aid societies, Union troops, black ministers, and white northern missionaries. Most brought flowers to lay on the burial field.”
Professor David W. Blight of the Yale University Department of History, described the day during part of his lecture, ‘The Beginning of Memorial Day,’
“This was the first Memorial Day. African Americans invented Memorial Day in Charleston, South Carolina. What you have there is black Americans recently freed from slavery announcing to the world with their flowers, their feet, and their songs what the war had been about. What they basically were creating was the Independence Day of a Second American Revolution.”
Of course, there remain many that want to dispute professor Blight’s claim, but if it were not for his discovery of this information, nearly lost and possibly suppressed, we would not even have it to consider. Did you know this former racetrack-turned open air field cemetery, still exists or efforts are being made to include this hallowed place as, an historic landmark? I did not until very recently.
On and on the stories and claims go, perhaps without ending and without number. But it seems the importance or meaning of the day, is lost on who said what first, made it first, and inspired it first.
At this point, what exactly do we know? We know that somewhere, sometime, someone merged Decoration Day with Memorial Day. It was merged because, after the change, people would still ‘decorate’ the graves of the fallen, but the word ‘memorial’ was more appropriate, for the reason they they did this. So it seems the connection was to honor the dead that fell during the American Civil War by decorating their graves. But we know that today, Memorial Day has expanded.
Many believe the name change from “Decoration Day” to “Memorial Day,” was first used in 1882. But it still was not a Federal Law until 1967. On June 28, 1968, the Congress passed the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which moved four holidays, including Memorial Day, from their traditional dates to a specified Monday, in order to create a convenient, three-day weekend. The change moved Memorial Day from its traditional May 30th date to the last Monday in May.
Law smaw, many states rejected this change until years later, when all 50 states were finally in compliance. Then there are those that still don’t like the date of the last Monday of the month of May. They would prefer the date being set on a more traditional date of May 30th, no matter what day of the week it may fall on. Congress has been repeatedly petitioned to make this change, even among its own members, but to no avail. Besides, if this were to happen, it would disrupt Memorial Day business, observed by most businesses because, this is the unofficial beginning of summer. Hmmm, what was really important, the day itself or another day off and part of another long weekend off and the opportunity for businesses to sell us their stuff from out of their stock and off their shelves?
Memorial Day expanded to include fallen soldiers, for all wars and conflicts since the American Civil War. Some did not like that because, living soldiers were not included. So Veterans Day was added for all veterans, living and deceased, for all wars. Veteran’s Day is on Tuesday, November 11 (this year 2014). But I bet more than many turn this into a four-day weekend, to do more stuff, get more stuff and to sell more stuff.
Memorial Day weekend has expanded to associate with the Labor Day weekend beginning, Monday September 1st (this year 2014). What is the association? Most people, businesses and organizations, with private or public swimming pools, open their pools around Memorial Day and close them down, after Labor Day.
Memorial Day weekend has expanded to associate with, the Indianapolis 500 and the Coca Cola 6oo races. These car racing events have for some time, been run on Memorial Day.
Somehow, Memorial Day was expanded to include all deceased members of families and friends and associates. People everywhere started decorating other graves besides those of soldiers. Then Memorial Day expanded to include picnics, gatherings of friends and families, businesses, other groups and of course, including barbecues!
Around the 16th century in England, the word potluck is said to have first been used. In the writings of Thomas Nashe, he defined this as, “food provided for an unexpected or uninvited guest, the luck of the pot.” In the 19th or 20th century, this potluck or sometimes called potlatch, was considered a communal or community meal, where people brought their own food. To the native Irish, this “luck of the pot,” had no particular menu, but was shared with many people and with many types of food, from whatever you had on hand because, quite often, this was the only pot people had to cook with. So many got together to use it and share the food together. This could have been neighbors, friends, families or all of them. This could have taken on the character of an extended family or a family reunion. Some people would often travel hundreds of miles to reconnect or with friends and families. They would gather on a certain day (like Memorial Day), decorate the graves of loved ones and renew their relationships or meet other new friends and family members. Sometimes, there could have been a religious service at the site and often this would follow with a “dinner on the ground.” Yes, at the cemetery, they would spread sheets or tablecloths on the grass or set up tables and “pass the pot,” sharing together what each brought to share. Now many believe this practice started way before the American Civil War so therefore, it predates any other origin of Memorial Day. But there are plenty of people around to dispute that claim or idea!
So what do we know for sure? We know that Memorial Day has expanded to include a lot of people and stuff. But what actually is Memorial Day? What is its purpose? I dunno, so I looked up the word “memorial,” in the dictionary.
The word memorial is a noun. It’s first definition, found in most dictionaries is, something similar to that which follows:
“something designed to preserve the memory of a person, event, etc., as a monument or a holiday.’
Origin:
1350-1400; Middle English < Late Latin memoriāle, noun of neuter of Latin memoriālis for or containing memoranda. belonging to remembrance
Old French memorie, from Latin memoria, from memormindful”
In the least common denominator, memorial comes from the word memory and is connected to ‘being mindful.’ What should we be memorializing? For what purpose should we remember. keep in our memory and be mindful of?
In a previous post on this blog ‘ON: ANZAC DAY, I wrote about my recent experiences in Australia. You can can read it for the first time or again if you so choose, but it began for me, an evolution if you will, for what Memorial Day means to me now.
Here at The Gathering Place, me and the Mrs., which is pretty poor, improper or just bad English (but the 2 m’s may make it easier to recall) or properly, the Mrs. and I, are spending the day much like many others. We started by attending our first Memorial Day Parade, in our new home-based area of, Macedon, NY. As relatively new members of this community, we wanted to become more involved. We waited at the cemetery, as the parade approached.
We connected with new friends and reconnected with old friends. We walked into the cemetery and were part of the short service that was followed by free hotdogs, chips and drinks up at the Macedon Center.
But the service began with a moment of silence, honoring those soldiers that were buried in this field. Next, there was an oral reading of a poem I had not heard before. The poem was written by Archibald MacLeish, a poet who served in the U.S. Army in World War I:
The Young Dead Soldiers
by Archibald MacLeish
The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock
counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can
know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours, they will mean what
you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope
or for nothing we cannot say, it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us
This was followed by a short prayer in thanks for the freedom that we there and we everywhere, are charged with as overseers and preservers of this freedom. The service concluded with a 21 gun salute to those fallen.
Both my wife Susan and I have had members of our individual families and mutual friends that served in the military. We have friends and family that are presently, serving in the military. We are quite used to and understand, “extended families.” These friends and families and soldiers became, ours and my friends and families and soldiers!
My manner for quite sometime has been, to remove my hat and extend my right hand to any soldier I meet, to say thank you, for their service to our country. All of theses men and women either paid the ultimate sacrifice or were or are willing, to give their lives, for what they believed and believe is in defense of this nation. But what does that mean? What is this nation? How are we any different than any other person upon the face of the earth, living or dead? Isn’t it that we have placed into writing that “all…are equal,” and all have, “certain unalienable rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness?” Is this not the cry of every heart; of every man, woman and child – past, present and future for, the freedom to exercise these rights?
For Susan and I like many people, we will put something on the grill later and do some yard work, visit with and talk to friends and family. I will personally reflect upon what Memorial Day has now come to mean to me.
I will change my greeting to any known solidier I may meet. I will thank them for their part is keeping us all free to enjoy Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. And I will extend this greeting to you, wherever you may be or whenever we may meet. For you too are, a defender, protector and an overseer of this freedom we all here, are here by rights to enjoy.
To truly honor our dead, we may continue to decorate their graves, get together, barbecue, open or go to a pool, and all the things we do, do on Memorial Day, but How SHALL WE HONOR THEM the BEST!
Let us go forth this Memorial Day, for all time, in the memory of and mindful of that each of us contribute or take part in the attempts to destroy freedom. If we cannot all, always agree, let us agree to disagree and part as friends and family, but let us each continue to preserve the path in peace, and decorate, and remember that we each are preservers of the freedom to enjoy, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness!
So to you, anyone that reads this or that I meet today or that I may meet one day, I say THANK YOU! Thank you for taking care of all our freedom to all our rights for, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness!!! Thank You!
Well, I know about house warming and barn raising. I even know “Hi Ho” from ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, but I never heard of a silo-wering, until today! 🙂
Our neighbor across the road that owns all the farm land around here, as far as eye can see, has three silos. This morning, I received a phone call from his wife. “Don’t get excited,” she said, “If you see car-gawkers along the road or people standing in the top of one of our silos by the barn, we’re having it taken down.”
Sure enough, I looked across the road and could see men, “standing in the top,” of one of their silos, just like she said. I had to go for a closer look and snap some pictures.
Silo-wering
This silo being taken down was about the same size as the one you see to the left, in the next picture. It had not been used for some time and it did not have a roof, long lost to some wind storm in the past.
The people were a group of Amish, contracted to de-construct the silo.
You can tell they are Amish by their familiar clothing of blue trousers, lighter blue shirts, suspenders and straw hats. I could see the beards on the men and hear their speech, which sounded German or perhaps, Pennsylvania Dutch.
The picture to the left was shot around 10:00 am and already, they had removed almost a 1/3 of the structure. They probably started around seven this morning.
There were three groups with each having a certain job to do.
The men standing inside the structure (somehow), would remove any metal and throw it down. Then they would go around the circumference and remove the concrete panels about 3′ X 1′ X 2″ thick.
The concrete panels probably weighed at least 100 pounds.
Then the leader on top would call out to the men standing on the ground to stand clear and then the would toss down the panels. They would yell clear and stop dropping materials.
The men on the ground would go pick up the pieces and take them to the truck and lay them on the bed. Then the leader on the ground would call out to the men on the silo, that they were clear.
There was one man on the truck bed that seemed to be the team leader or supervisor. The rest were young men around 12-15 I guess. They would stack the concrete panels on the truck bed. I asked one of the young men what they were going to do with the material and I was told they were going to use it to re-construct this silo, somewhere else.
They are amazing to watch how the work together and just keep moving!
Teamwork
This went on all day until they finished the job. Each group rested between their specific jobs. This was very interesting and very efficient. I am amazed at their work ethics, how they kept moving, worked together, resting only they were not directly involved. I can imagine that other groups or companies might take days to do this job and probably with a lot of broken materials. But the Amish completed this job in one day. The flat bed truck was fully loaded. The only thing left was some concrete panels stacked up and the concrete pad the silo stood on.
I realize that Mother’s Day is nearly over as I am writing this post and by the time it is finished, published and read by anyone, it will be. But I have been busy today, doing my part to make the day as special as I could for my wife Susan that is a mother and others that we shared the day with. I have also had the unique situation in that Mother’s Day was also, my wife Susan’s birthday.
Like many people, I too spent time sending emails, Facebook comments and sent messages to friends and family that are mothers as well.
I saw that many people changed their profile cover pictures on Facebook using one of their own mothers. I think this was really nice. Besides celebrating the day with great grandmothers, grandmothers, mothers, wives, sisters, aunts, and cousins (sorry if I left out anyone) all themselves mothers, for which we honor them on this day, there remains some things perhaps not yet said? I will try to address them here.
There are the wonderful step-mothers and mothers-in-law that stepped in, not to replace any mother, but to fill the void in the life of a family, where for whatever reason, the mother is missing. It is hard enough to be a mother as it is, but I give extra special kudos to the step mothers and mothers-in-law that must need to work extra hard.
For myself, being busy today, I hardly had time to think of my own mother who, like many that changed their profile pictures, has passed some time ago. Yes, on this Mother’s Day 2014, there are many mothers missing. And to those of us still here, we are still here because, we all had a mother.
I miss my mother like many do. This is all I have to say about this, but I’m sure that anyone that reads this and share with me in similar circumstances, there is not enough time and then, there are all the words we cannot speak which linger like a cloud of butterflies, flitting around, inside our hearts. Here, I will post a couple of pictures like many have, but there is something more I want to share.
I am most blessed in this life and on this day because, I had a mother, a mother-in-law and my mother-wife. My mother-in-law that I always just called Mom, was just as much a mother to me as mine was. I never saw any difference. And she certainly stepped in and filled the great void, when my own mother had passed. On this day, I remember her as well, for she too, has passed. And I remember Susan my wife, for without her I cannot imagine life, but with her I can.
My Mom I
My Mom II (or too)My Suezzzzq
As I mentioned earlier, today was unique because, May 11, 2014, Mother’s Day, happened to fall on my wife’s Susan’s birthday. I don’t know how often this occurs, but it happens and it happened today.
Without my Mom, I would not have been around to have ever met Susan or her mother that became my mother too. I love Susan with all my heart! If soul mates are a real thing, she is certainly this to me!
My mother loved me, fed me, clothed me, held me, comforted me, inspired me and made me want more out of this life. She encouraged my curiosity and interests. She lived, laughed and cried, gave to others of her own joy and often out of her own need. She sacrificed much for me and for others. My mother(s) influenced me to be the person that I am as does my wife Susan. Though both my Moms are gone, Susan is still here. I carry them inside myself, in all that I say and do in this life. Sure, they screwed up; made mistakes; were not perfect and neither am I. But when you see me or meet me, you’ll meet my Moms and Susan. I hope you like me, because they surely would have loved or will love you!
And I often think about my first mother, how much I would have wanted her to meet my Susan and her mother (my other Mom) because, I know absolutely that she would have loved them both as much as I do and probably, even more. And why not, I love them both still because, she first taught me how to love.
There is a curious thing about love, a mother’s love or any kind of love. No matter how great a person’s capacity to love is, it requires a recipient to receive it. Love is something active, it gives often and always. It does not distinguish, meter itself out nor is a respecter of persons. It gives of itself completely and always. It just is, but it needs recipients. It is what it is and it does what it does, it loves. It is always in motion. When it comes back (as it always does), it is always more; always bigger; always stronger than when it went out. But it needs recipients. To get love, we give love, not because we want it back, but because we just have to give it like we have to breathe. But we still get it back and it comes back to us making us fuller, richer, deeper and stronger, whether we like it or not! 🙂 We really do like it though! Need love, want love? Give love and make yourself LOVABLE! Be a recipient of love. Be one huge, EMPTY VESSEL, without a top, sides or a bottom, to receive love and you’ll always have plenty to give.
It grieves me greatly to think of those that are born without a mother’s love or are raised without a mother’s love. But we recipients can step in and fill the void, just like it has been done for us and so often, for each of us. We all carry our mothers with us, wherever we go in this life. Our mothers loved and love us! What do you think or believe our Moms expect us to do with their love, LOVE OTHERS!!
I love life. I love that I am alive. I love my two Moms. I love my wife, Susan. I love our kids, grandkids, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, (any one else I may have left out) and our friends. This incredible joy, I carry around in my soul, every moment that I live. But it is only possible because, I had the blessing of having a mother and the double blessing of another. Each of you, every child, had at least one!
And I am thankful that you love me. And I am thankful that I allow myself to be loved by you. And I am thankful to all of you that you let me love you. Isn’t this what our mothers wanted, when they wanted us? When you meet me, meet my Moms! When I meet you, I’ll meet yours!!
So to you, all of you, every child, the bouquet above is, for YOU!
By the time you get this in the west around 10:00 AM there, it is around midnight of April 30th, and in just a few hours we will take a ride by car then catch a train to Sydney International Airport and we will be on our first flight back home, starting first with an overnight in Tokyo, Japan.
And the confusion or weirdness begins. For our long travel back from the future into the past begins. I am not looking forward to the long flights, time changes and the dreaded jet lag from passing back into yesterday, sixteen hours later when we have already lived in your tomorrow. I’d love to click my heels three times and have it over.
As we leave The Land Down Under as many pronounce it here OZ-tralia, it does feel somewhat like we are not in “Kansas anymore,” like Dorothy said to Toto. Our time here has been wonderful, but as Dorothy also said to Toto…
“There’s No Place Like Home!”
But until we get back to yesterday, today, it’s Pretty & Cool or Pretty Cool Part III! 🙂
Realy Cool Real Plant Arrangement Three Sisters Mall Store at Echo Point, Blue Mountains, Katoomba, NSW, AustraliaBeautiful Fruit-Like Berry Blossom, Belgenny Farm, Camden Park Estate, Camden, NSW, AustraliaPretty Blue Somewhere in Australia 🙂Pretty & Poisonous Toadstool under shrub at Entrance to Carrington Hotel, Katoomba, NSW, AustraliaPretty Smiley Face Flower, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaA Bud, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaDelicate Texture, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaBlack Swan, Indigenous to Australia, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaNature’s Fractals (Fern), Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaCloseup of Nature’s Fractal (Fern), Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaBlue-Red, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaCloseup of Blue-Red, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaPeacock, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaCloseup of Peacock, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaPink Hibiscus, Taronga Zoo, Sydney, NSW, AustraliaLittle Flowering Tree, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustraliaLilly Pad Flower, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustraliaWhite Gardenia, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustraliaBeautiful Rose, The Memorial Rose Garden, Camden, NSW, AustraliaSusan, My Beautiful Rose in Front of Waterfall at, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustraliaBeautiful Rose Bud, The Rose Memorial Park, Camden, NSW, AustraliaBeautiful Lavender Rose, The Rose Memorial, Camden, NSW, AustraliaThe Money Tree, in a Park Outside of Camden, NSW, AustraliaPretty Little, Lily Pad Pond, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustralaiPretty-Cool Whatever it is, The Blue Mountains, Katoomba, NSW, AustraliaPretty Peaceful, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustraliaPretty Peaceful II, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, AustrailaPretty Peaceful III, The Chinese Friendship Garden, Downtown Sydney, NSW, Austraila
By 10:00 AM in NY (eastern standard time) today,April 28, 2014 it is midnight of the next day here in Australia (April 29th. Hopefully, I am asleep, for when we arise, it’s packing day, for tomorrow morning we will be leaving the ‘Land Down Under,’ for Japan, and our trip home.
So I, like Tooter Turtle will call upon Mr. Wizard the Lizard to get us safely home.
Tooter Turtle (sometimes spelled Tudor or Tutor) was a cartoon about a turtle that first appeared on TV in 1960, as a segment, along with The Hunter a detective dog, as part of the King Leonardo and His Short Subjects program. “Tooter Turtle” debuted on NBC, on Saturday, October 15, 1960, and ran for 39 original episodes through July 22, 1961. These episodes were later rerun as backups on other cartoon shows,[1] but no more original episodes were made.
The plots followed the same general format. Tooter (voiced by Allen Swift) calls on his friend Mr. Wizard the Lizard (voiced by Sandy Becker), an anthropomorphic lizard wearing wizard cone hat, robe, and pince-nez eyeglasses. Mr. Wizard lived in a tiny cardboard box at the base of a tall tree. The introductory segment had Tooter knocking on the cardboard box, having “another favor to ask.” From inside the box, Mr. Wizard would shrink Tooter small enough to enter through the box’s front door, and invite him in. Mr. Wizard has the magic to change Tooter’s life to some other destiny, usually sending him back in time and to various locales.
Mr. Wizard sending Tooter Turtle somewhere in the past, present or futureTooter Turtle being brought back
As Tooter is doing his destiny, Mr. Wizard narrates about it. When Tooter’s trip finally became a catastrophe, Tooter would request help with a cry of “Help me Mr. Wizard, I don’t want to be X any more!” where X was whatever destiny Tooter had entered. Mr. Wizard would then rescue Tooter with the incantation, “Twizzle, Twazzle, Twozzle, Twome; time for this one to come home.” Then, Mr. Wizard would always give Tooter the same advice:
“Be just what you is, not what you is not. Those that do this are the happiest lot.”
This will be a very long post. I realize that you may have many things that you deem more important than reading my blog and because of the length of that to follow, this post, but I promise you that it will be well worth your time! Our purpose singularly, in visiting Japan and Australia was to meet two of our newest grandsons for the very first time and to be with family and friends we have not seen in a long time. It is like a vacation too and like an exploration to us, of the new and unknown. I try with all my ability to immerse myself in all that I do. Whether or not you believe me, I do this mostly, for you! In much that I do, I think, I must live live inside my head and within my heart and perhaps I should instead, just be living life. I think that I am living, but I just know of no other way to be, then who and what I am. I take things and feel things deeply and my sincerest hope for you in reading this post is that you will find something that moves you as deeply as it has and does. so moves me. Perhaps it will even change your life or transform it? It is for this purpose that I have written the following, as best that I know how. I have written it for you!!!
If I could wish and my wishes could come true, I’d wish I could type (keystroke) faster, think faster, think smarter, use less words, but capture exactly what I feel that you feel exactly what I try to write and that it may be understood by anyone!!!
Dahni
Guhday mates from Donnie, your ANZAC Day guide
On Friday April 25th, 2014, Australia, will commemorate the 99th year memorial of ANZAC Day.
Until quite recently, I had never heard of ANZAC Day. It has been an evolving rote (basic) understanding for me of not just the event of historical relevance, but its far-reaching significance to the world. As this is being written, the sun has already set here in Australia and I scramble to complete this post in time, for you of the West that will soon begin your sunrise on Friday.
We were informed of ANZAC Day by email from a family member, before we arrived in Australia. I thought there was some connection between the Netherlands and Australia, but I could not quite understand it. But there was a U.S. connection that I did understand and you will understand this as well, at the conclusion of this post and the video at the very end.
Then, I started to see that there was a connection between Australia and New Zealand, but it still, was unclear to me, what this was.
Then, we were downtown in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, in Hyde Park. There, in this beautiful and massive park stands, the ANZAC Memorial.
That ANZAC Day is important to the Australians, is another public holiday, and not relative to me (or so I thought), was all becoming more clear to me.
I knew today was related to Gallipolli, war, April 25 and 1915 and this is about all I understood. In the United States we have Veterans Day and I thought it was just something unique to us as, ANZAC Day is to Australia and New Zealand. I still did not yet understand, the connections and associations and involvement of many people and many countries throughout the world, with this particular day.
I do understand and have great respect for honoring not the dead, but the purposes for which they loved, lived and died. I remember seeing my own countrymen spit on our own returning veterans from the Vietnam conflict. I use the word “conflict, on purpose, for it was never declared a war by my government. This seems to be an all too often ploy, to conduct, for all practical purposes, war without having the US Congress involved, in declaring it so. I understand that many of our returning service men and women were treated poorly, because of the nation’s vehement desire to protest it; were against it and unfortunately, those that got caught in the crossfire by many of us, WE the People, were our own people; our own brothers and sisters; our service men and women! Things have changed since then. There is more respect bestowed, more honor given and it is all, more than deserved and far, far less, than they deserve! After all, because of men and women like these the world over, every country to some degree or another, enjoys the liberty, the freedoms, the prosperity and the peace that we all do. I understand the simple act of recognizing one who has served or is serving by saying, THANK YOU, and shaking their hand!” If not for such as these, the world in its entirety, would be in slavery, in bondage and not know liberty!
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
On Thursday night April 24th, 2014, I was walking through the downtown area of Camden, New South Wales, Australia. I went into a local clothing store called, ‘The Looking Class.’ I was surprised to find them open at this hour, but was later informed that Thursday nights are a normal time to shop here and most stores would be closed the next day, on Friday due to the holiday.
My purpose in stopping there was to thank them for trying to locate an Akurbra hat for me, which I later found in Katoomba, NSW, Australia, during our visit to the Blue Mountains. I also wanted to ask if there was a special brush I could purchase from them to keep my hat clean. And, having nearly had my hat blown off my head by the wind here, I was curious as to a solution to prevent this from happening in the future. Though the wind was slight and more than I had previously or since experienced while in Australia, where we live on top of a hill in Macedon, New York, in the United States of America, the winds can be quite fierce and on a regular basis. I do not want to lose my hat!
The owner and his wife were both present and I thanked them, for their efforts in trying to locate a ‘Coolibah,’ Akurbra, in my size and asked my questions. Bob promptly showed me a leather chinstrap made of Kangaroo hide and made in Australia. He promised that if I brought in my hat, he would install the strap for me at no charge, even though I did not purchase my hat from them.
We chatted about many things, my impressions of Australia and they shared some history of their country, the community of Camden and even explained some Aussie phrases to me. 🙂
Bob is a member of the Camden Community Band along with our son Jonathan and asked me if either Jon was going to perform with the band the following morning and would I be attending the sunrise service for ANZAC Day on Friday? I told them that Jonathan could not attend. I knew very little about this public holiday, even though we viewed, the 1981 movie, ‘Gallipoli,’ soon after we first arrived in Australia.
1981 Movie DVD cover art starring Mel Gibson & Mark Lee
I still did not understand and because, from a military point of view, this battle, for which ANZAC Day is remembered, was basically a failed campaign with many losses of life!
Still, the day is important enough to Australia to declare it a national holiday. And it was obviously important to Bob. He had a wonderful display in their store window.
Looking Class clothing store window displayThe Looking Class Clothing Store
Bob informed me that the service would begin at 5:20 AM the next morning. I will never forget my response to his question, am I going! “Who on God’s earth would be awake at this time of the morning,” I sarcastically replied. But I did leave their store with the suggestion that I might show up.
I have been awakened often at 5:00 AM here anyway, because the three cats that live here. If our door is not all the way closed, all three will come into our room to try and wake me up to feed them. One even walks across the head of our bed, and my head, to get to the nightstand and will literally tap the button on the alarm clock to make the radio come on, if all else fails to rouse me from sleep. 🙂
But, I decided to set the alarm on my smart phone, for 4:50 AM and give this sunrise service a shot.
The alarm went off as scheduled; I got up and dressed; then walked maybe four minutes, to where the service was to be held at, The Camden Rose Garden. While I was walking, I noticed to my surprise, the streets were already starting to be lined on both sides with vehicles. I saw a few people out, here and there. Then, as I rounded the corner of the street to where the service was to be held, I beheld something totally unexpected! Hundreds of people were already gathering at the Memorial Rose Garden. Police closed the street to traffic and set up and manned blockades at both ends. As I walked closer, the crowd of people grew larger.
Here were the young and elderly people, male and female, whole families with their children (some still in their pajamas) and groups of families and friends all walking towards the center of attention. The morning was overcast and it was not supposed to rain. There was only a slight 10% chance, but after 10:00 AM. While I walked closer, the band promptly began to play at 5:20 AM.
As I drew closer, I could see that the musicians had their music stands with little lights on them so that they could read the music before them and play their instruments. I saw many men and women dressed in uniform, scouts and various youth groups were dressed in uniform and there were several in their street clothes that had medals on their overcoats and jackets. The temperature was cool and delicious. I only wore a single long sleeve shirt, long pants, shoes and socks. Some that gathered had clear plastic raincoats and others had umbrellas, many of which, had the Australian Flag as part of the design when opened. On occasion, the then crescent moon shined through the clouds and the area had the benefit of a few streetlamps to provide light.
ANZAC Day sunrise service, video clip
As the band finished the first song, an announcer over a speaker greeted the people and thanked them for coming and for proving him wrong, as it was reported that there were hundreds of people there! By the time the service was over (approximately 1 hour in length), there must have been thousands present at such an early hour, including myself, the least among them, to know why I was there.
The band played another tune and then there was a pause. The people stood motionless and quiet. A few kookaburra birds supplied some vocals. Then the announcer began to explain the purpose of this service and gave a brief introduction of what was to come, named the featured speaker and other dignitaries that had come to participate. The people and every child stood still and were still. It started to rain and I prayed fervently that it would cease. It mattered not, no one moved or even flinched. A few lifted their umbrellas and some were in raincoats, but the rest of the crowd would not be moved by any amount of rain. Thankfully, the rain stopped.
Youth groups in uniforms marched. Planes unseen in the clouds above, flew quietly overhead, out of respect. Every ear listened, as this memorial was far more than to honor those that had fought and died, for what they believed was right and sacrificed the full measure of their devotion, with their lives. Left behind were families that perhaps, would never see their sons, brothers, relatives, friends, or husbands anymore, and children that may have never known their fathers. Left behind were those free to aspire to careers as doctors, engineers, scientists and all manner of free-to-choose paths, FREE from tyranny. Left behind would be those that would live with privilege, not ever knowing war and its many losses and its many changes that many would take long to recover from and some perhaps, not ever. What a wonderful lesson these children and I were being instructed and inspired with! Many of these children, I found out later, did not have to be there so early, they wanted to be!
The beautiful and soaring vocals of woman, along with the band, filled the air and every heart. One by one and group by group, many came forward from the crowd and laid a wreath of honor with the simple and singularly repeated banner, “LEST WE FORGET.”
Something familiar as, “We will remember, We will never forget,” and other such phrases came to my mind, but…
…But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
The featured speaker was an active military person. His assignment was to bring home fellow soldiers, those that had completed their assignments, were injured and those that fell from the Iraqi war and Afghanistan. It did not matter from which country they hailed. His task this morning was to express what ANZAC Day meant to him. He began his brief remarks with a sincere and humble apology, should he stumble over his words, if his voice should crack or if he could not speak the full content of his words. It was a highly emotional speech. I recall some of it. His job and his team’s mission was to bring “their” soldiers home, period, whatever it took, from whatever country they may have come from! They joked as the plane was loaded and ready to take off, to an unseen enemy, “give us your best shot!” At that very moment, a single bullet rang out and hit. An american soldier that just moments before was showing pictures of his wife and family, smiling and looking so forward to going home, was instantly dead. Our morning speaker mentioned other similar events, his voice quivered, but stayed strong and true. “All our soldiers, we bring home,” he said, with out reservation or hesitation!
I must confess that I was literally in tears. I cannot recount how moved I was and how privileged I felt to be alive, to have been in Australia and to have participated in this early morning service that was purposed to be on or about the same time in 1915, when the soldiers fought and died the morning of April 25th.
There I was, some 9,000 miles away from our home, in another country; at nearly the bottom of the world, before dawn. I cannot imagine what those in 1915 must have felt that day, so far from their loved ones and on foreign soil!
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
ANZAC Day marks the anniversary of the first campaign that led to major casualties for Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War. The acronym ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, whose soldiers were known as Anzacs. Anzac Day remains one of the most important national occasions of both Australia and New Zealand, a rare instance of two sovereign countries that not only share in the same remembrance day, but making reference to both countries in its name. When war broke out in 1914, Australia and New Zealand had been dominions of the British Empire for thirteen and seven years respectively.
But Anzac Day has become a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand that broadly commemorates all, “who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations,” and “the contribution and suffering of all those who have served. though originally, April 25th was to honor the members of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who fought at Gallipoli in the Ottoman Empire during World War I.
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
Today, is also, a very special Day for the Dutch in the Netherlands, the Turkish people, the Greeks, and as it should be to Canada, Great Britain, the United States, and in my opinion, the whole world.
“The Gallipoli peninsula Turkish: Gelibolu Yarımadası; Greek:Καλλίπολη) is located in Turkish Thrace (or East Thrace), the European part of Turkey, with the Aegean Sea to the west and the Dardanelles straits to the east. Gallipoli derives its name from the Greek “Καλλίπολις” (Kallipolis), meaning “Beautiful City”. In antiquity, it was known as the Thracian Chersonese (Latin: Chersonesus Thracica, Greek: Θρακική Χερσόνησος).
In ancient times, the Gallipoli Peninsula was known as the Thracian Chersonesus (“Chersonesus” means “peninsula”) to the Greeks and Romans. it was the location of several prominent towns, including Cardia, Pactya, Callipolis (Gallipoli), Alopeconnesus, Sestos, Madytos, and Elaeus. The peninsula was renowned for its wheat. It also benefited from its strategic importance on the main route between Europe and Asia, as well as from its control of the shipping route from Crimea. The city of Sestos was the main crossing-point on the Hellespont (Dardanelles).”
After the sunrise service, there was a parade downtown around 10 AM the same morning. Susan and I made the short walk and arrived shortly before it began. A lady close to us on the corner, was wearing a sprig of rosemary on her blouse. I asked her why and she told us it is a spice for remembering and used symbolically on ANZAC Day. Camden has rosemary growing all over downtown! We struck up a conversation with this lady who has lived in Australia for eight years. She was born and raised in Cyprus, part of Greece and she explained the Greek connection to ANZAC DAY. She broke off two sprigs of rosemary, one for Susan and I and withdrew two small safety pins from her purse and pinned us! A man came by and offered anyone that wanted one, a free Australian Flag. So this is the information about my picture above. But most important, the connections are all starting to connect for me.
Susan enjoying the parade1,000’s of the people of Camden came outA girl carrying one of the many wreathsThe Memorial at the Rose Garden“Lest We Forget”
Though the following video displays uniforms and symbolism perhaps specifically only familiar to the people of the United States, cannot the same truths and emotions be understood, shared and felt among all the peoples of the world?!
“Hey Brother”
In World War 2, twenty-two thousand Australians were captured defending Malaya, Singapore, and the Netherlands and the East Indies. An estimated 8031 died in captivity as Prisoners-of-War (POWs) of the Japanese.
Some 13000 Australian POWs were transported to Burma and Thailand to work on the 420 kilometre (about 261 miles) Burma–Thailand Railway, where nearly 2650 Australians died — from disease, deprivation and horrendous brutality at the hands of their captors. This was known as and perhaps for infamy (in shame), the ‘Railway of Death.’
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
In Turkey, the name “ANZAC Cove” was officially recognized by the Turkish government on Anzac Day in 1985. In 1934, Kemal Atatürk delivered the following words to the first Australians, New Zealanders and British to visit the Gallipoli battlefields. This was later inscribed on a monolith at Ari Burnu Cemetery (ANZAC Beach) which was unveiled in 1985. The words also appear on the Kemal Atatürk Memorial, Canberra, and the Atatürk Memorial in Wellington:
“Those heroes that shed their blood
And lost their lives.
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies
And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side
Here in this country of ours.
You, the mothers,
Who sent their sons from far away countries
Wipe away your tears,
Your sons are now lying in our bosom
And are in peace
After having lost their lives on this land they have
Become our sons as well.”
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
The Netherlands connect with and share much in common with ANZAC DAY.
In commemorating the 20th anniversary of The Netherlands liberation, the Dutch government commissioned trumpet player, Nini Rosso and Guglielmo Brezza, to compose a piece of music. It was written in 1965 and first played in 1965, May 5th.
The piece is instrumental, with a small spoken Italian lyric, notable for its trumpet theme. Its thematic melody is, an extension of the same Italian Calvary bugle call, used by Russian composer Tchaikovsky, to open his ‘Capriccio Italien’ and often mistaken for the United States bugle call, ‘Taps.’ It has become a world wide instrumental standard.
The reason for the commissioning of this music was to honor those in a cemetery in the Dutch city of Maastricht. For there lie buried, 8,301 American soldiers, who died in “Operation Market Garden,” in the battles to liberate Holland in the fall and winter of 1944-45. Everyone of the men buried in the cemetery, as well as those in the Canadian and British military cemeteries has been adopted by a Dutch family, who tend the grave and keep alive the memory of the soldier they have adopted. It is the custom to keep a portrait of “their,” foreign soldier, in a place of honor in their homes. Annually, on “Liberation Day,” Memorial Services are held for “the men, who died to liberate Holland.” The day concludes with a concert, at which, “Il Silenzio” (The Silence) has always been, the concluding piece.
Il Silenzio contains the following spoken lines:
Buona notte, amore
Ti vedrò nei miei sogni
Buona notte a te che sei lontana
Good night, love
I’ll see you in my dreams
Good night to you who are far away.
In 2008, the soloist was a 13-year-old Dutch girl, Melissa Venema, backed by André Rieu and the Royal Orchestra of the Netherlands.
“Il Silenzio”
The Silence
But the meaning of all this has come to mean, so much more to me!
We the peoples of the world are connected, by so much more than we may realize. I am not advocating that we abandon our individual dates of importance or our cultures. I am not even suggesting that we all share in some world wide special international holiday. In silence we all should not just remember what people have died for, but for what purpose have they lived.
The United States, in our Declaration of Independence of 1776, put into writing, the hopes and dreams of every man, woman and child for all times past, for the present and for all our futures; ALL PEOPLE OF THE WORLD! Are the peoples of the world all not connected by the fervent desire, for “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness!” We should remember those that lived and died for these things the world over as well as, those that live now and have resolved to give their lives to those ends if called for. But we who are alive and live with the privileges of those sacrifices made for us, should remember that we all desire the same things and to live this way, to teach our children, and avoid any conflict,
“Lest we forget!”
And these are not merely lofty sentiments or unreal expectations. For the purpose of life is to live. The right of life is liberty. The desire of every life is the pursuit of individual happiness.
Over nine thousand miles away from home, in a foreign country; at almost the bottom of the world, I have seen this and experienced it in the coming together of the people here in Camden, New South Wales, Australia, on this ANZAC Day, 2014!
For this day, they were all a part of me and I was one with them. May I return to my own homeland with this same heart and share it,
On Friday April 11, 2014, after we checked in at our cottage in Katoomba, NSW, Australia in the Blue Mountains, Susan and Jonathan and I went to town to find some food for super. Caitlin, baby Felix and Fritz the dog stayed behind at the cottage.
The cottage had a large open space for the living, dining and breakfast area, with a high cathedral ceiling. The west wall was all glass and outside was a large wooden deck. Two large cedar trees were on each side of the deck.
The view of the Blue Mountains towards the frot of the deck or due west was incredible! It was the perfect place to view the sunrise, sunset, moon-rise, moon-fall and the many coolabah (eucalyptus or gum) trees rising mysteriously in the distance. These trees hosted many cockatoos and other birds. Throughout our weekend, we could see them fly over and sunset and sunrise and perch in the trees. And, outside on the deck was a wonderful place to hear the cacophony of sounds and breathe the fresh clean mountain air and reflect on life, chill or just be at peace.
But as we three, on our first evening here, crossed the street from our cottage, at least 100 cockatoos flew overhead, just around sunset. We we brought food home for Caitlin and told her about this, she let us know that she saw the same group of birds fly overhead and land in the trees, in front of the deck of our cottage!
Personally, I’ve only ever seen any of these beautiful birds in zoos and as pets back home in the United States, but and never so many and flying-living free in Australia!!! 🙂
Although I was not able to capture this extraordinary sight with my camera, four cockatoos showed up the morning we left for home. One in particular, seemed more than willing to pose just for you! So I share this ‘Cockatoo Good Morning with You!’
Good Morning from our cottage deck in the Blue Mountains
Four Cockatoos
Curious CockatoosStrutting StuffGot any food?Sure I’ll pose for you!Look at me!Are you looking at me?It is a beautiful morning!See how high I can sit in the tree!I’m so pretty! Thanks for looking! HAVE A NICE DAY! 🙂
Guhday Mates, from Donnie your Aussie Blue Mountains, cottage guide
On April twelfth through the morning of the 14, 2014 we rented a cottage in The Blue Mountains, in the city of Kat0omba, New South Wales, Australia.
It was a wonderful place full of antiques, plush thick big towels and all the necessary things for comfort as you could imagine. They even had the refrigerator stocked with food which we gladly added to with what we brought and enjoyed some cooking at our home away from home.
The cottage was called: Sidney’s Retreat (Not Sydney, but I think they live there) and is named after the owner’s wife, I believe.
Hot water was supplied by a Rinnai tank-less water heater, so we always had hot water. There was a microwave, coffee/espresso/cappuccino machine, four slice toaster, plates, and other cookware and utensils, silverware, spices, an assortment of coffees and teas.
We had a wood burning fireplace with plenty of wood, but no kindling to start one. Jonathan and I manged to burn a roll of toilet paper and some paper towels for a short-lived fire, due to the wood still being damp and no kindling, but we had a great time trying.
There were gas or electric heaters in every room – each of the two bedrooms, the bathroom and the kitchen/dining/living room = Great room with a vaulted ceiling. There were electric blankets in every bedroom. There were toys for children, a high chair for Baby Felix, DVD movies, a falt screen TV, books even playing cards which we four used a couple of nights.
The deck outside was massive and even supplied a grill if we were inclined to use it. There was an outside table and chairs for 6-8 people. The deck overlooked an interesting classic, ancient Greek/Romanesque courtyard, of stone and statues in process. All of us concurred that we would love to live in this place! 🙂
This was agreat place to explore and visit the town of Katoomba (more about this in another post). But after all is said and done, it’s all about the view from the Great Room or from the deck! The Blue Mountains were right in our back yard!!
Jonathan & Susan at the gate to your cottageNo. 36 Lurline St., your temp. address in Katoomba, NSW, AustraliaPathway to your home away from homeYour Front DoorWhat’s this Samsung thing? Touch your palm to the face?Press the two numbers that show (different each time)A full panel display, insert the four digit password followed by the pound sign and the door opens! AWESOME! I want one of these!!! 🙂Your BedroomYour bed rm. with chairs and stuffed toys and stuff for kidsBig room bath with shower and claw legged tub and the room had a skylightLiving area of Great Rm.I loved the old telephone! wing, wing, wing, Hehwo! 🙂Part of the spacious kitchenOutside looking in
Jonathan, Caitlin, baby Felix and Fritz the dog even had an old pump organ in their room that Jonathan played. This video is for you, Janet Beaman! 🙂
It’s All about the View from our deck!It’s All about the View IIIt’s All about the View IIIIt’s All about the View IVIt’s All about the View VIt’s All about the View VI
I grew up in the Midwest. We lived in town and had grandparents that lived in the country. City living gave us culture and the advantages which benefit, from higher education. We had the rural roots and common sense, fresh air and produce from the farm. We had the best of both worlds. I especially loved the fall, autumn, falling leaves and colors, crisp apple cider and crisp air, ripening, harvest, plenty and well, just that whole cornucopia idea of, abundance. A familiar phrase to me as a child growing up, just set the whole season into mind and motion. Just a few words gave me the visual promotion or concept of autumn – “when the frost is on the punkin.” Yes, I do know how to spell pumpkin, but “punkin,” is how the word was first pronounced to me. I am not sure where I first heard this. Perhaps it was our mother, from her mother or father, our grandparents? Both of our Mom’s parents were from large farming families so, you might expect the word “punkin” to be proper pronunciation for the farm, country, and the south. Pumpkin would be correct, for the formally educated, the city dwellers, the landlubbers or as a friend refers to me since I am a new transplant to the “country,” a “flatlander.” Well, I think it is pretty obvious as to what “frost on the punkin” means. Pumpkins turn their bright orange color in the fall and while still not winter, the nights and days can be quite cool. Elementary science taught us that something freezes at 32°F. Frost can occur on the ground, on leaves, and yes, even pumpkins at higher temperatures from 32-say-36 or 37°F. So, “frost on the punkin,” means, it’t chilly outside. It’s time for my favorite olympic sport of, raking leaves and jumping into the piles. Not to mention pumpkin eats and drinks, OMG it’s AUTUMN!!! 🙂 I’ve used this phrase for most of my life. Recently, I used it and some people had never heard of it. So, I thought, maybe it is a Midwest or a southern expression; not known to us northerners? Yes, I included myself as a northerner, since I live here in New York, even though I was born and raised in the Midwest. Well, again with the well, well, how deep is this well? Where did this expression come from? I consulted with the oldest trivia, where-did-that-come-from expression expert, our local home-spun-poetry committed to memory aficionado and my fellow poetry-lover kindred spirit, Aunt Anne Magar (Bab’s) [pronounced: Bob’s]. She’s 91 and sharp as a tack. So I put it to her, “Aunt Bab’s,” I said, “have you ever heard the expression, “frost on the punkin?” “Oh, sure,” she said grinning confidently, “It is from a poem. You should look it up!” So I did. It was written by James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
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