The enemy of Christ always realizes the value children. Why? Because they are the next generation and "train them up in the way they shall go" and they will follow right along in the footsteps of their fathers. Fill their little skulls full of mush with evil--and evil will follow. Teach them the Word of Righteousness--and even if they are not saved, they have a foundation of morality. (Can they entirely reject it? Of course, just as a child raised by evil can be not as entirely depraved as he has been raised to be--or he can even find salvation.)

Why, I must ask, why do Christian parents abandon their children to be educated by the state (particularly in these days)? Why are we so blind and so trusting? Why do we think that our little ones can resist the forces of evil alone? Why do we think that they will not be affected by the world around them unless we protect them and guide them?

As a child, I was educated at home; I lived what believe to be a fairly sheltered life (though the nature of my dad's job left me from an early age with the knowledge that life is bigger than me and my circle). As I grew older, and stronger in my faith, as I was fed the Word of God and settled on the doctrines of Scripture, I was introduced to the world as it is. A place of sin...and I was equipped to deal with it by further education. But! I was not equipped to deal with it as a child--even though I went to church every week and read my Bible every morning. If I had been thrust into the sphere of government education as a child, my mind would have been warped (I believe) in spite of my born-again state. 

Even further--I have seen under-prepared (home-educated) young people in their mid-to-late teens enter "secular" colleges...and have their thinking warped. Twisted. We must be ever vigilant as parents, as siblings, as friends, as PEOPLE to be aware of where the wayward heart of man is directed and constantly re-turn minds (our own included--first, actually) to the Word of God. To evaluate the basis of our thinking, our worldview. 

I have no children. I have no husband. I have no particular male friend for that matter. But I still see, and must see, and prepare to fight the enemy in all areas. Pride, lust of the flesh, anger, laziness...my children. I long to have little's I can call "my children" (for now I have to borrow other peoples' darlings) and yet I realize...their souls must be fought for, prayed over, given to the Lord. Outside of prayer, how best to do that but shield them from the influence of the world until they have a foundation under them which never buckles? I cannot guarantee that God will see fit to call those future children of mine into His fold, but I must never cease to guard them as children. When they become men, naturally, there is a letting go--but until they are grown--it is my responsibility before God (along with the husband I haven't yet) to protect them, guide them, instruct them in the Word of God.

Yes. The enemy understands the value of the children. The enemy delights in corrupting their minds...the enemy loves to use them. Why willingly hand them to him? 

History teaches us much...

I got distracted this afternoon when I went to the barn and cranked Annabelle, the green Ford, and the "Navy Ambulance Van". I got distracted for sure poking around my truck. Not my GMC pick-up in Florida...but my 1942 Chevrolet Army Truck.

I poked around, got in, sat behind the wheel, turned the key--which did absolutely nothing--mainly because I later realized she's not hooked up to a battery at all. I crawled up on the fender and peered into the engine, calling out to myself the various parts of the engine I know and am at least vaguely aware of how they function. There is some wiring that needs replacing for sure. 

Then, while waiting for the other vehicles to run a little longer, I went and I sat in a green plastic chair and just looked at the old girl.

That's when it hit me. I knew she needed a name (most of our vehicles are named, you know) and it came to me all of sudden and felt right.

Bobbie Mae.

Bobbie--because she was Grandpa's before she was mine and his name was Robert. He went by Bobby as a boy.

Mae--because I thought "Bobbie Mae" sounded like a nice 1940-ish name. Maybe something a feller would have nicknamed his ride--be it a truck or a plane. (I also had a great-grandmother on my dad's side with that name as her second name.)

Anyway, Bobbie Mae needs work--a lot of it. Like several thousand dollars worth, I reckon. Still...someday, I want to restore her to her former glory. And so...I day dreamed. 

I hardly think I'll be able to get started on her this spring like I half-seriously dreamed last fall...but it sure would be nice. I need to do reading, parts research, historical research...and learn how to drive a manual. :D 

Too many projects--and not a one of them galloping along with any speed. You'd think my projects were all astride an ancient nag...eh well. We'll have to see if a good night's sleep puts any pep back into that nag... ;)

Off to bed shortly,

Leading up to D-day, we were busy as buzzz-bees (excuse the song references that may find themselves working their way into this recitation) sewing and going all around nutty--in my case at any rate. I wanted to get out by 10 am on Friday so bad that I pushed so hard that I forgot a number of items--for instance, wash-water and my Sunday clothes. Well. And for all that, we still didn't pull out until near 11 am!

Anyway, to back up a wee bit, our sweetheart of a friend Miss K. came along this year and with her came her brother N. N got me laughing so hard that we had to tell him to tone it down because, as the driver, I needed to be able to see--which I can't do when laughing as hard as I was. Anyway, in between spurts of jokes and PSA's N napped as did K. It's a phenomena that I can't quite get my head around--how does one drop off to sleep like that?

So Friday. Like I said, I wanted to get out by 10 (hoping for even earlier) and we didn't make it out until 11. N helped me to load the truck while the girls continued to get their beauty rest (and I don't mean that snarky at all--I was fine with them still being in bed because I went to bed earlier than they had and I also know that tent camping isn't exactly the most conducive to fantastic sleep and neither one of them is exactly in one-hundred percent tip-top health [me either for that matter])...but anyway we managed to squeeze everything and everyone in eventually and headed south. I drove a little faster than I had wanted to, but I really, really, REALLY wanted to arrive before dark so that we didn't have to set up after nightfall like we had last year.

Well, we arrived, signed in and decided to skip supper (which turned out to be spaghetti again which at least two of us couldn't eat anyway) in order to go set up at the Courter's place where we camped last year. I think we even got the exact same spot....

After doing a rush-job there, we whizzed back into town, windows down, soaking up the Tennessee air and rolled into the vendor area where we unpacked nearly all the rest of the truck and got the tables and tent set-up, leaving the boxes packed--which due to the amount of humidity (read "DEW") was smart--everything would have been as wet as we were in the tent that night. 

They were fixing to play the Friday evening movie, so we hauled our coolers back to an unoccupied table and supped upon the contents. I about choked a couple of times over the Walt Disney scrap-drive cartoon. It was highly amusing.

It is clear to me, looking at the photos, that our photographer didn't ask anyone to take her picture and none of us were considerate enough to think of it. Sorry Katherine!! Kick me next time please! (One of our quad was fast asleep hugging a bench, so he naturally wouldn't have thought of it. ;] )

During the film, an acquaintance dropped by and we probably talked for 15-30 minutes discussing what our respective families have been up to since the last time we had spoken as well as trivial things like what was going on on the screen "up there". It was nice to see Paul.

We rolled on out after the film at some point and hit the sack. I didn't sleep very grandly, as the ground felt harder than usual and I also felt like I was going to roll down hill if I relaxed. Anyway, I slept enough to get me through the day without falling apart. :D 

Saturday didn't go exactly as I had planned, as I had intended/hoped to catch some of the speakers, spend some greater amount of time gabbing with a dear friend, attend what I'm sure was a very cool presentation of aerial training, and also spend a little more time looking at things, as well as being a bigger help at the vendor area. However, though things didn't go as planned, it was fine because I got to spend quite a lot of time with Bob, whom I call my "best beau":

I took undue delight in introducing my friends to Bob--even at one point marching importantly across the street to accost Luke K. (who, along with his dad, was dressed in a sailor's uniform) and demanding (probably very much impishly) if he'd like to meet a real sailor! Thus I drug nearly the whole K. family across to meet Bob and got to listen to him tell stories again. :)

Speaking of Bob, the Boyer Sisters serenaded him personally  with "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and he was truly delighted. In fact, I think he was pretty pleased with all my friends because he told me later, "You have a bunch of real nice friends." So, for any of you reading this--THANK-YOU!! You helped make a 96-year-old sailorman happy! 

I have so far neglected to mention that Johnny (Bob's brother) was there too. Johnny left before Bob did, but it was real nice to see him too. The two of them are still best friends and quite a pair!

I may return to Bob here in abit, but for now, I'm going to grasp at a few other Saturday memories while they are in my head.

THERE WAS A B-17 FLYOVER. 

Mr. K and Luke were at our vendor tent, replete in their sailor's duds, and I can't remember if I was in the middle of a sentence or not, all I remember is, I saw her coming and as she roared overhead, bomb bay door open, I literally tore out the back side of the tent (probably with some sort of thrilled exclamation) and waved frantically. I later felt that I was probably a bit rude, but since they also enjoyed seeing "Sentimental Journey" fly over, that it was okay. :D Oh well, now the K's know how I react to old warbirds. It's odd how excited I get over a hunk of flying steel....

I grabbed K at some point and we went off to get ourselves a half-track ride...only it really was a troop-truck. :) Still, it was fun! We were squeezed in nice and tight and I struck up a conversation with the girl on the other side of me (Julianne, I think it was) and I actually forget what all we talked about--but I think I remember correctly that she was from Alabama. Still, it was a nice little, somewhat hollared conversation and we grinned at each other when we saw one other later on. 

There was a BT-13 (Daddy said, "Basically a fixed gear T-6") which they did a training demo with, but I didn't hear that because I was up near the courthouse with Bob, rather than down at the encampment. However, Bob and I enjoyed watching the plain roaring overhead and he got to talking about how it can be overwhelming when you have 40 planes diving at you...the noise brought back some memories for him, but he didn't seem overly disturbed. He tells me that he was never really frightened, he fell back on his training so much that he just wasn't scared. He mentioned how when the Hornet was attacked at the time that he hurt his back, "I had on my anti-flash suit and life vest and I don't remember putting them on."

There were also a number (say two or three) other planes that I'm not calling to mind their make, though definitely radials, with fixed wings on the lower side of the fuselage, likely trainers of some sort that flew around both during the battles and not--and when the Veteran's Parade was underway.

Bob and Johnny didn't want to be in the Veteran's Parade; in fact, Johnny left before it started, but I stood around with Bob watching it and talking with him and his nephew Eric some more. I think a number of the K's were still there at that point too, so it was a nice homey group (I just about put homely...which certainly wasn't the case).

The morning battle saw the Krauts taking over the town and in the afternoon battle the Allies took it back. We were down in the vendor area for both battles, and looking at the spectator area's crowdedness, perhaps that wasn't a bad idea. Sure, there was more action up that street, but we might not have been able to see any better anyway.

There were both more reenactors and spectators this year in addition to more vehicles. The German's had a tank:

And some sort of armoured car which Katherine apparently didn't get a picture of; there were some motorcycles, an armoured troop carrier, and an armed Volkswagon! 

Speaking of motorcycles, the German medic rode one...and there is a story to go with him.

There was a young American soldier who was the only surviving member of his squad and he found a barrel to hide behind as the German's pushed into town:

Well, that there Kraut Medic pointed him out to the troopers in front of him--and they shot the poor fellow!

I didn't actually see this go down, but Katherine did and so I thought I would share the story; particularly as she has photographic proof...

I don't have a plethora of battle stories this time, but I do recall seeing this man take a hit...and then his helmet and helmet liner sit there and rock back and forth:

Oh, and by the way, here's an example of what not to do in the middle of a battle:

Also, right there with this same jeep, there was a man who appeared to be sniping--thing is, he took forever to aim, then lowered his rifle and fiddled with it for a bit, and then brought it back up and took forever to aim again...and never squeezed the trigger. There was something strangely awkward about the whole situation...perhaps it was the fact that at one point he looked over at me and it seemed like he was aware of the fact that I was watching him intently. I don't know, but that incident sticks out rather oddly.

And just for good measure, one blurry, but maybe artistic shot of the same jeep:

So I like that one for some reason.

Speaking of jeeps and military vehicles, for the past couple of years, I've been after a half-track ride. Well, it finally happened Saturday night. After the supper and USO show and fireworks were over and my head was pounding, we first got a jolly go-round in the back of a red Ford owned by the Courter's and driven by Jessica (who also had a headache, poor thing); we picked up a load of young soldier boys part way through town and I got to hear about the Henry Ford Festival at Greenfield Village from the blue-eyed young'un standing on the running board. I confess that I remember very little of what Robert actually said...but found it amusing at the time. It actually made me laugh because I knew who he was because I'm FB friends with his mother and I told him that and he kind of rolled his eyes. It didn't dampen his enthusiasm any however and he kept chattering at me and his pals until the drop off.

Anyway, we had a chance, after hopping off the Ford to catch the last ride on the half-track! I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to get up there, particularly in my formal and heels, but with a hand given to each of the young men in the back, and a dose of "forget about looking graceful" and a foot stuck way in the air, I was pulled/hopped up to be followed quickly by Katherine, the K ladies, and a several of the K fellas. I nearly fell as soon as I was in because my leather soles slid on the rather inclined metal interior, but I didn't fall. Miss K and N were both in the truck rather exhausted and therefore missed further rides. Anyway, we took off down the street and zipped about. On our way back up, the damper was put on the evening when Mr. Courter hailed the half-track asking if any of the K's were on board. As most of the passengers were K's he quickly passed the information that Josiah had jumped off a moving vehicle and was in an unknown condition. Isaac stayed on with Katherine and I while the rest of the family were assisted down and ran to where Josiah was.
​
I will skip ahead here and let y'all know that Josiah was alright. It was a great relief to see him on Sunday morning, looking exhausted and worn to be sure, but very much on his feet. I was really kind of worried about him. I later got a grin out of him that almost made me cry because I was glad to see the twinkle behind those ornery eyes. 

So, I DID get my half-track ride and it was fun despite the way it ended up. Perhaps I can hop another next year....

We returned to our camp shortly thereafter I took my headache to a readjusted bedroll and slept like a log. I was still tired next morning, but I wasn't in pain any more, so I was happy about that.

However, I wasn't overly thrilled over when I realized that I had left my red-striped sailor outfit at home  by accident--so I had to go to church looking (or at least feeling) slightly frumpy in my gored denim skirt (thing is starting to wear out) and a t-shirt borrowed from my sister. That shirt looks real nice on her, but green isn't exactly my best color. :D

Anyway, I don't believe the saying that "clothes make the man", so I could go to worship just as reverently in my "frump" as my "frills" (not that my sailor suit is exactly frilly). The church service that took place after some music and a talk by Mr. Potter, being held in the local Southern Baptist Church wasn't exactly what I'm used to as far as depth of content and such...I understand also that it was somewhat unusual circumstances and they were trying to keep with the history theme, so they kind of leaned towards songs most of us think of as more "patriotic" than "churchy".

After church, we were fed again (a billion thanks to these folks for feeding us multiple times!) and some people headed out to the Axis vs. Allies baseball game. We were not among them. I actually intended to leave around 1-2...but we didn't pull out until 3 local time...because, some of us were playing music (I'm glad I slid my spoons into my purse!) and then the Katherine  and K ended up helping Mrs. Courter clean up. I did just a very, very small amount right before we left, but I really spent most of my time here:

The musicians, as follows in no particular order. Katherine tried, but didn't quite get individual shots of everyone so I'll post the singles first and then move to the group shots; ladies first for some reason... ;)

I'm going to insert here real quick that Luke very graciously let me try out his accordion. It was harder to work the bellows (if that is what it's called) than I expected...and I couldn't see the buttons very well, so he had keep putting me right. :D It was fun and I appreciate the mini-lesson. I have greater respect for accordion players now...Thanks Luke!

Okay...y'all might be bored by any more...I tried to pick the best ones!

Here's a few shot of "The Ocean Mutts". Don't ask. I'm not allowed to tell... ;) 

And just because I must...here are a few more shots:

I think I have nearly run out of things to say...even though there is probably plenty more, it's too "partial" to be of much interest, so we'll close out here. :) We arrived home safely (obviously) and I've been working on this on and off all day in my tired, slow-poke state. I did however, find a photo with Katherine in it on FB--so I'm going to put that here, but I'm going to try to trim everyone out but her, so you can see how nice she looked without anyone or anything competing for your attention!

Love that smile, classy girl! 

Another of the Greatest Generation has passed into eternity. Sunday morning, at 1:08, my 93 year old grandpa crossed the threshold of death after three weeks in the hospital.

Born December 10, 1922, Grandpa had lived a full life. He grew up on a farm, played basketball in high school (which he enjoyed), served his country during WWII (though never did he see combat), later farmed, fished commercially, and kept bees--in addition to a thousand other things like building his own house from the foundation to the roof (including doing the wiring himself) and mechanicing until he no longer could. He raised four children and his several grandchildren were all honoured and privileged to know him.

Below I have posted some of my favorite photos of him--some from far, far before I was born!

Yesterday, the 27th of July, two-thousand and six, we laid Grandpa to rest.

If you find photos the deceased and funerals morbid, I beg you forgive me. I just think the funeral home did such a beautiful job with him...he looked so peaceful and happy that I could not help smiling back.

For the second time now I was a pall bearer. Once again, for a grandfather.

The other pall bearers were Daddy, Savannah, Katherine, my cousin Danny, second cousin Denny, and Fred and Davy (our farmers). 

I have no true assurance, but I do have hope, that one day I will see my Grandpa again in heaven. The peace I have had throughout this whole time can only have come from God.

I said "Good-night, Grandpa" last Saturday evening before kissing him gently on the forehead. When I got up Sunday morning, I found a note beside the coffee pot written by my mother. I didn't have to read it to know that he was gone. Just it being there told me the story. So now I say, "Good-bye, Grandpa." I'm just glad I had those few minutes with him a few days before he passed when he was awake and clearly aware that his family was around him.

I salute you. 

I did this interview with Grandpa Thanksgiving 2013.

Because a man did not live I am writing this today. Because this man had a friend who told his granddaughter a story I am writing this today. Because this man's friend's granddaughter was raised to respect and honour those who went before her and had, over the years, developed a keen interest in the history of her grandfather's generation, I am writing this today.

My grandpa told me a story. A story about an old high school friend of his who did not live to see victory over the Axis during WWII. The story went something along these lines:

Shorty's real name was Walter M. Clevenger. Rank Technical Sergeant. But there is more.

Grandpa's story is not the real story. It isn't overly surprising really, because at the time Shorty died, Grandpa was quite likely in basic himself and as things get passed along a grapevine, the story often morphs. 

Last night, I found the truth. Accidentally. I cannot remember the course of events that led me to revisit Shorty, but in doing so, I stumbled upon the truth.

Shorty was in the 359th Bomb Squadron, 303rd Bomb Group, 8th Air Force, stationed in England. He was one of ten crewmen on a B-17F, the "Yahoodi"--AAF serial #41-24608. He wasn't the ball turret gunner--that was a fellow by the name of S/Sgt. Leif H. Hoklin who did survive. Rather, Shorty was the radio operator. 

Two days before, on January 1, 1943, Shorty had turned 21. On January 3rd, while on a bombing run (the target of which was St. Nazaire, France), whether to or from I do not know, the Yahoodi took enemy fire and was hit. Using the coordinates found in the records, I discovered that they went down in the sea south of Brittany. The records aren't overly profuse or informative, but enough to paint a picture of an ack-ack attack, engines knocked out, and a crew of ten headed straight into the ocean, the wind whistling through the fuselage. I wonder how many of them were already dead. Or how terrified they were. 

I know the picture isn't very big...or very clear, but thanks to someone else's research I know the identity of a couple of the men. Shorty I guessed correctly before I found proof. He's second from left in the front. The rest of the crew are as follows: 1st Lt. Frank A. Saunders (Pilot; POW), 2nd Lt. Leonard W. Kirk (Co-Pilot; KIA; second from left, back row); 2nd Lt. Oscar F. Forester (Navigator; POW); 2nd Lt. Norman Kossis (Bombardier; KIA; far right, back row); S/Sgt. Llyod E. Wagner (Engineer/Top Turret Gunner; KIA; third from right, front row); Sgt. Rufus C. Litton (Left Waist Gunner; KIA); S/Sgt. Russell O. Chitwood (Right Waist Gunner; KIA); S/Sgt. Leif H. Hoklin (Ball Turret Gunner; POW), and Sgt. Howard A. High (Tail Gunner; KIA).

Shorty, age 21, died during that bombing run on January 3rd, 1943. He wasn't married. I don't even know if he had a girlfriend. He died and I never knew him--but he is not forgotten. He may have never had any children...but I'll stand in for those unborn children and grandchildren and claim him as one of my own. This is for Shorty.

Because T/Sgt. Walter M. Clevenger did not live I write this. I will someday tell my own children about him so that he will not be forgotten.

In Memoriam, 

I have been under radio silence for over a week now (I think). The reason has been the WWII Remembered reenactment in Linden, Tennessee. We girls went as vendors, so for a couple of weeks prior I had been sewing and sewing (post on that coming soon). 

It was a one day event (on Saturday), but we girls left home on Thursday in order to swing over and collect some friends of ours. We spent the night at the H. house before loading A and R's things into the truck and hitting the road.

A. sat in the front with Savannah (longer legs than mine!) and I confess, that though I was sitting directly behind him, couldn't hear what their most interesting conversations were. Only by straining my ears could I catch the jist of them...guess that's what you get for putting two soft-spoken people in the front seat of a very noisy vehicle. :D

We arrived in Tennessee safely and we got ourselves registered, scouted out where we'd be setting up the next day, listened to some live songs as the mic checks were underway, and I, at any rate, got eaten by mosquitoes (nasty bugsys!)

The fact that we girls are used to Eastern time actually was a blessing because we woke up earlier in the morning and so were able to get out the door at 7:30 (like we planned) without much extra stress. Below is what we looked like (minus the aprons we would later don):

You can't tell in the picture, but the Army-brat in the sailor suit's scarf had little Navy signalmen on it. Mama picked it up the Goodwill just a day or two before we left. I love it!

As vendor's the day was something of a flop. We sold a few things, but not near what we would have liked to sell. When talking to various people on the organizing/planning/event host staff, it became clear that there were not as many folks there as they had expected; also roughly half the vendors pulled out and didn't show and "a lot of the reenactors" cancelled at the last minute. Odd...

Anyway, the actual reenactment part was outstanding. The battles, which ranged up the street from the encampment (which I never did make it down to!) up to the courthouse. Here's the set up: The Nazi's held the town and there was this HUGE Nazi flag hung on the courthouse. The Allies (101st and 82nd Airborne, and a British paratrooper unit) came up the street from the encampment, past the vendors, and took the town. Dropping the Nazi flag, they replaced it with a little US flag. 

Anyway, now that you get the idea of the strategic movements of the battle, let me tell you a little bit about the experience. As the Allies came up the street, they were firing. It really gave one a sense of what it would have been like. I wasn't afraid, because I knew the cartridges were blanks, but I could easily imagine being afraid under the circumstances...so, I got into character and hunkered down behind my tables (but not in such a way that I couldn't see) and jumped every time the small howitzer roared. 

I guesstimated to A that the shell was probably "this size" (holding up my hands in a rough circle about 5-6 inches across) and we tried to figure out what caliber that was. [After doing a real brief Wiki search here, it looks like it could have been a "75mm Pack Howitzer M1 (also known by its post-war designation M116)". According to this, it was primarily used by Airborne units...at any rate, it was a smallish one.]

The first battle (there were two), I was down at the vendor area and really felt right smack dab in the middle of things. The second battle, I went into the spectator area and didn't feel quite so much in the middle of things. The were both well executed.

At some point during the first battle, I was standing near the front of this pretty antique Ford pickup (it was red!), shading my eyes and looking towards the courthouse square. One of the field photographers (101st, I believe his patch was) was facing me [his back to courthouse], so I glanced back to see if there were more men coming (I wanted to know if I needed to get out the way)...there weren't, so I realized he was taking my picture, so I faced back the way I had been and kept squinting up the street (it was pretty sunny). After a moment, he grinned at me and said, "Perfect!" before wheeling and hurrying up the street toward the fighting. I must say I was rather flattered. :)

The overall organization and coordination of the event was probably the best of any reenactment I've been a part of. The Courters (and their church) did an outstanding job getting everything ready and making it work, even with the little hitches that inevitably happen. I really hope they do it again next year! I'll try to make it if they do! (*mumbles: Can I get my old truck fixed up by then?*)

Throughout the day, they had speakers and live music up next to the courthouse. I didn't hear any of them really except for the first veteran who spoke. He was one of the Dachau concentration camp liberators. I think that A caught all the speakers on video (he was out and about with his camera enough), so I'll have to bug my brother for copies (please ;])... 

I gave hugs and kisses to as many of the WWII vets in attendance that I could get to. There were the usual jokes about me flirting with the old men, but it doesn't matter. I do love the old gentlemen for who they are and what they did and as my own grandfather is of them and that age, it doesn't seem odd or inappropriate to me. (Besides, I have yet to meet one of these men that has refused the affection. :D)

I feel that this post is rather inadequate, but I'm really quite tired and think I'm fighting off another meningitis attack. I'm just glad that didn't come over me yesterday, because I was driving. (YES. Racheal has finally learned how to drive highway speeds!!!)

We didn't get many pictures because as reenactors we were going to try to follow the rules (no modern looking cameras)...so that is why there are practically none. 

I did get to meet a few people that hitherto I have only a) heard about, b) seen pictures of, or c) read their blogs. I met a couple of the Botkins...I actually had a short conversation with David and Nadia over the doll dress table. They have a two year old daughter who was getting quite sleepy. Anyway, Mr. David Botkin left the table with a Lady Libby business card in his hand. :)

At supper that evening, we sat across from a lady and her red-headed son (he was one of the medics) from Florida. I was going to ask said young man at some point whether or not he did Civil War reenacting because he looked soo familiar. I'm not sure I haven't seen that face under a grey kepi before...Anyway, I didn't ask and Sunday morning I was too tired (and thus shy) to stroll up to him and tap him on the elbow and ask. He probably would have been nice about it if I had because he seemed to be a nice fellow. His mother looked really familiar too... Oh well. I guess it won't kill me to not have my curiosity satisfied. 

Speaking of Saturday evening though...after supper, Steven Bowman (a filmmaker I had name [and to a degree, face] recognition with), did an interpretation of Winston Churchill's speech after Dunkirk (you know, the famous "we will fight on the beaches" speech). He did such a GREAT job; putting on the accent, slurring like Churchill...it was really enjoyable. (He didn't quite sound like Churchill, being too young to really get the grovel going right, but was really close.)

Afterwards, the Boyer sisters did a little show, replete with USO arm bands and all. There were old favorites and songs I had never heard before. One of my favorites was "Put it in a Box, Tie it with a Ribbon, and Throw it in the Deep Blue Sea". It was really catchy. (Do you know that one, Mrs. S?)

Once the entertainment was over, I was well satisfied to head back to our motel and get to bed. My sunburn was beginning to catch up to me.

Sunday morning we joined Christ the King Church for worship. It's the first time that I have ever been to a Reformed Baptist church, so it was interesting for that in and of itself. However, the message(s) were edifying and Biblical. We stayed to eat afterwards and had a good conversation with a pretty young lady named Norah. A. was further down the table in conversation with another fellow filmmaker. 

We headed back to the H.'s around 4 o'clock (central time) and got in someplace between 7:30 and 8:30. By that time I was too tired to really bother what time it was. We ate the supper that was waiting on us, talked to the rest of the H. family for a while and then everybody went to their respective sleeping quarters. The pull-out couch I was loaned was pretty comfortable and I slept good and hard all night long.

We girls didn't leave until nearly noon the next day because after a good breakfast and a couple cups of coffee made by the still exhausted A, L, the youngest of the H. "kids" 'hornswoggled' (a word used to describe me by A! ;D) us into a game of Frisbee. He's so tall he just reaches up and plucks the flying disk out of the air. Anyway, L had to leave to go to work and the rest of us kept playing for a while (yes, Savannah still had on her heels!) and then we just jawed for a while.

I drove home (as I had driven over on Thursday) and we got home before 7. 

I am grateful we got to go; it was a good time with friends (family ;]) and a good reminder of our history and how we ought to hold brave men in esteem. 

I really hope they do it again next year!

Thanks for putting us up (and putting up with us), H. Family!!

My brain that is. 

Yes, it's been one of those kinds of days. I woke up rather tired, then I had a mini-mini-catastrophe with a sewing project, meanwhile I was spun off onto the trail of a friends grandfather's history, coupled with my own. (The two men were stationed at the same place; perhaps even at the same time, during WWII.)

Anyway, I learned a wee bit more about the history of a place I once called home and have quite fond memories of. I learned a bit more about tanks vs. tank destroyers, the 8th Armored Division, the 809th Tank Destroyers, and my Grandpa's past. 

I heard a new story today. 

Grandpa was stationed in California in late '44 and '45 with the 121st Ordinance Company. One day, when he was south of his station, he and the guys he was with were in essence staging machinery (he didn't specify what kinds, but I would guess that would be tanks, trucks, jeeps, and such like) for the troops who would shortly be headed for the Pacific Theater. All of a sudden, he hears someone hailing him. "Snow!" 

Well, he knew it wasn't one of the guys in his unit. So, he turns around and there is a guy from the 809th (whom he left before they shipped overseas). This man told him about the 809th's landing in Normandy a few days after D-Day. During that time, Major Poole (whom I am guessing was probably Grandpa's CO by the way he said it) and one of Grandpa's close buddies (his words) had been killed.

Grandpa always cries when he talks about his time in the service. Always. This story I had never heard before and it really seemed to affect him. I can now count three very close friends of his he lost in the war. His uncle Harold (whose picture sits on the buffet in our dining room; Harold always makes me smile for he looks so happy!), his high-school pal "Shorty" (I have seen his picture some place), and now this previously unknown soldier whose first name is lost to Grandpa's memory.  I find learning these things helps put it all into perspective, as does looking at pictures like this:

One begins to wonder, "How many of these men never came home?"

May God bless our remaining "Greatest Generation"...and all our currently serving troops!