"No, Never, Never Ever, Not, Nothing, None!" (or Not a Laughing Matter)

After a trip to the beach, I attempt to give him a quick bath to rinse away residual sand or germy fish water. Once in the tub however, it’s difficult to get him out. “You’re turning prune-ish,” I insist, “just look at your wrinkled fingertips.” Unconcerned, he gives a cursory glance at his fingers and continues playing with his bath toys. 

I open the drain, turn to retrieve a towel and he has closed the drain. We go on like this until the tub is empty. I reach for him and he goes limp, like a wet, spineless jellyfish. 

Oh, he’s a handful, this one! But, I am bigger and somewhat stronger. Finally, I drape a towel over him and extract him from the waterless tub, as he exclaims defiantly, “No, never, never ever, not, nothing, (* slight pause as his brain searches *) none!” 

He has just put together every negative word his barely two-year-old vocabulary could muster.  I know I shouldn’t encourage his contrariness by laughing, but gosh darn it, the kid is clever. And so what if my amusement at his recalcitrance makes his parents' job all the tougher. He and I laugh together. It’s a grandparent/grandchild privilege.

I try to find humor in difficult situations. It helps me cope with that which I cannot control, like someone else’s behavior. I can’t make a two-year-old agree with me every time. Nor, should I necessarily do so. It is a two-year-old’s prerogative to defy adults as he/she begins to mature into a independent-thinking human being. They are wired to emerge from an angelic lovingly-reliant-on-you-stage and into the frustratingly diametric territory of the “terrible twos.” My own dear, departed mother used to laugh as she handed down the parental curse, “I hope you someday have a child as defiant as you are.”

*** 

A presidential election year is never something to which I look forward, what with all the negative bantering, but this year it’s “off the charts."

Back in grammar school Sister Beata taught us about the political process of an election in a democracy by having us elect a class president. A boy named Andrew won. (He went on to become involved in the perimeter of Chicago politics and recently retired his latest position as commissioner of the Dept. of Planning and Development under Mayor Emmanuel). As I recall, Andrew ran a “clean” campaign. He was honest and fair and stuck to the substantive issues, like staggered recess periods (allowing more room for physical activity on the playground), and limited “pop” quizzes. He did not engage in negative or defamatory attacks upon his opponent’s character. And he stuck to this even when his opponent made posters calling him, “Randy Andy,” (until the nuns confiscated and destroyed the signs, threatening to punish anyone caught even using the phrase.)

***

I cannot believe that just a few months ago I looked forward to reading of Mr. Trump’s inane antics; that I actually found some perverse amusement in him, as if to say “Let’s see what kind of craziness he’s up to now?”

How wrong was I?! It is clearly not a laughing matter.

We have a dangerous person running for the important office of President of the United States of America. He purposely inflicts harm by encouraging people to be as uninhibited in their morally bereft vacuity as he is. 

Trump strikes a chord with people who somehow feel insecure, or as Olive Oyl called it in the Popeye cartoon, “un-secure,” as they seemingly lack confidence, or, at the very least, they fail to recognize their own strengths. These malcontents want to point the finger of blame at the government, at immigrants, at political correctness, at anyone or anything except themselves for what they consider their "poor lot in life."

I’m not going to list Trump’s reckless and egomaniacal assaults. Everyone has heard them. And they are coming so rapid-fire that it’s hard to keep up. Besides, I couldn’t respond nearly as eloquently as Mr. and Mrs. Kahn already have, nor passionately as Patti Davis, daughter of Ronald Reagan, who posted:

“Your glib and horrifying comment about ‘Second Amendment people’ was heard around the world… It was heard by the person sitting alone in a room, locked in his own dark fantasies, who sees unbridled violence as a way to make his mark in the world, and is just looking for ideas. Yes, Mr. Trump, words matter. But, then you know that, which makes this all even more horrifying." 

New York Times’ Frank Bruni wrote:

Being angry at Donald Trump for comments like this increasingly makes little sense - it's like being mad at a 2 year old for throwing a tantrum.

Mr. Bruni, it’s an insult to every two-year-old to have their normal childhood development compared with Mr. Trump’s behavior.

Trump’s behavior and comments are not “childish,” they are calculated and cruel.

***

I was at book club, shortly after I became a full-time resident here in the rural heartland of America. We’d read a book that led to a discussion on racial intolerance. I confessed to the group my naivety that upon moving to a mostly all-caucasian community, and after working for 20 years at a forward-thinking, urban Catholic university, to find that such intolerance still existed. “I was quite dismayed,” I explained to the group. I questioned our choice of a home in this new locale, saying to Practical Husband, “What have we gotten ourselves into?!”

When I left book club that evening a co-member pulled me aside, and attempted to reassure me with a whispered, “We are not all like that out here, you know."

To the world, I say:

There are tens of millions of wonderful, welcoming, open-minded, compassionate and loving people who reside here in the U.S.A.  Hopefully, we will not whisper, but collectively stand up and speak loud and clear in November to Mr. Trump, “No, never, never ever, not, nothing, none!”

***

“What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.” -Robert Kennedy

Let us set a good example for our young ones,
and for, oh, I don't know... like maybe 7 generations coming?

Build It and They Will Buy (or Don't Replace What Ain't Broke)

FADE IN:

INT. ROW OF SEATS IN THEATRICAL PLAYHOUSE, NEAR STAGE - EVENING

In a playhouse in rural northwest Illinois, an attractive couple sits, reading playbills, waiting for onset of play, when another couple enters and takes adjacent seats.

DERF and his wife, LLENAR, nicely ensconced, full-time Privatopians are approached by GOOCH and his wife, LILY, full-time Privatopians, who “winter” in Florida.

GOOCH

Hey, Llenar and Derf! Fancy meeting you here.

DERF

I was thinking the same thing.

(The wives talk quietly to each other.)

GOOCH

Say, you’re not in favor of that new lodge, are you? …I mean, what are they thinking?!

***

I haven’t been blogging lately, and not because I don’t have anything to write. Rather, I am so chock-full of stuff that I’m afraid if I don’t stem the swell I will burst like an ill-maintained dam.

***

Where do I begin? To me it seems as if, currently, here in the USA, political divisiveness is as pervasive as it was during the civil war era. But, then I think about the recent UK referendum - on whether to leave or remain in the European Union... OR, the big debate here at Privatopia: Tear it Down and Rebuild or, The Old Lodge is Just Fine. Perhaps it’s just part of our collective tribal DNA to disagree…

***

Did you ever read the short book, “Mama’s Bank Account” by Kathryn Forbes? If not, perhaps you saw the play or film, “I Remember Mama” or, “Mama,” the television series.

It describes the joys and struggles of a Norwegian family in America in the 1910s. Each payday Mama gathers the family to see if there is sufficient cash for the family’s needs and thus no reason to go to the real “bank” in town to withdraw from their savings account.

"It will cost a little money,” says the son, Nels, as he expresses his desire to further his education by attending high school.

Nels had it all written out neatly. So much for carfare, for clothes, for notebooks and supplies. Mama looked at the figures for a long time. Then she counted out the money in the Little Bank. There was not enough. She pursed her lips. 'We do not,' she reminded us gently, 'want to have to go to the Bank.' We all shook our heads.' I will work in Dillon's grocery shop after school,' Nels volunteered. Mama gave him a bright smile and laboriously wrote down a sum and added and subtracted. Papa did it in his head. He was very quick on arithmetic. 'Is not enough,' he said. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it for a long time. 'I give up tobacco,' he said suddenly. Mama reached across the table and touched Papa's sleeve, but she didn't say anything. Just wrote down another figure.' I will mind the Elvington children every Friday night,' I said. 'Christine can help me.'' Is good,' Mama said. We all felt very good. We had passed another milestone without having to go downtown and draw money out of Mama's Bank Account. The Little Bank was sufficient for the present."

It’s a heartwarming tale with a cute twist - (SPOILER ALERT!! - Actually, there is no downtown bank account. Mama has never set foot inside a bank. She used her weekly ritual to instill the idea of family responsibility and cooperation as to financial matters, to basically make certain that all were on the same page, -and, mind you, without unnecessary worry for the little ones.)

***

Privatopia is a common-interest community — governed by a property owners association (POA.)

Some property/home owners like having a governing body that instills balance and coherence within a locality by establishing rules that regulate its appearance and its use for the benefit of all. (I fall into that category.)

Often POAs/HOAs are governed by volunteer or elected board members. I thank them and applaud their service. However, sometimes members having little, or no, property management experience are then charged with the maintenance and allocation of hundreds of thousands of dollars. They make decisions such as paying down debt, building emergency or reserve funds. Reserves, as I understand it, are for items you know will have to be replaced or repaired, such as common roads, common building roofs, swimming pool/recreation areas, etc. How well should reserves funded? I don’t know. Rather than get involved, I put my trust in our board.

Logic dictates that the financial health of an POA community...

Let me stop right here- I can tell I’m losing your interest. But, do let’s talk for a minute about “logic."

Logic, as I recall being taught by Mr. Reardon in high school, centers around premises, which lead to a conclusion. It gets more complicated, but I’ll keep it basic.

Example of a logical conclusion:

All humans are mortal. (premise)

Ranell is a human. (premise)

___________________

So, Ranell is mortal. (conclusion)

Example of a counterexample in logic:

Ranell has never received a moving violation while driving a motorized vehicle. (true premise)

Ranell has been driving for 45+ years. (true premise)

_______________________

So, Ranell is a great driver. (invalid conclusion)

While the premises are true, it does not necessarily follow that the conclusion is true. Ranell could simply be lucky or skillful at eluding tickets.

Example of false premise, false conclusion

All stars emit light. (true premise)

Mars is a star. (false premise - Mars is not a star, but a planet)

___________________

So, Mars emits light. (invalid conclusion)

Now, back to Privatopia and our POA Board’s attempt to obtain approval for the demolition and rebuilding of our 40-year-old lodge building. I took a good look at the lodge recently and didn’t think it looked all that bad. Nor, do I consider 40 years to be too old for a building. Heck, Practical Husband and I resided in a Chicago bungalow that was about 77 years old when we sold it to a young man who adored it. And then I think about how the National Park Service works to preserve old lodges and historical buildings. Instead of demolition they opt to upgrade the building's HVAC systems, electrical and plumbing.

The board took pictures of some of the “problem” areas and posted them, e.g., an open electrical junction box. This sort of backfired because of numerous reactions, like: “Why aren’t we fixing these things as we go along?” “Somebody take a screwdriver and close the darn thing!”  Anyway none of the problems seemed insurmountable, something to justify razing the building. But, that’s me.

Here is their opening paragraph about the New Lodge (the italics are mine, to accent the parts I question):

The goal with this project is to create value for our property owners - a new four season, family oriented facility that will better support the pool and winter activities. This will attract younger families with kids. The plan is to build an attractive more functional facility that better connects to the pool with a central entry point. It will better support current and new activities. Better facilities for dinners, dances, weddings, movies, kid’s and young adult activities, fitness center, meetings, card clubs, ski hill, tube hill, and more. Having a first rate facility for these activities will help to attract new membership and increase property values. This is consistent with our Lake Carroll Mission Statement. Quality amenities including lake, golf, clubhouse, pool, and including a new lodge will only help to attract membership and improve property values. We need to invest in our future. 

I don’t follow their logic. Let’s start with that 2nd sentence: “This will attract younger families with kids.” -Where is the proof for this statement? And even if this were a true premise or conclusion, from where will these young families come? The Chicago suburbs? From the sometimes, economically challenged local small towns of northwest Illinois? Are they talking about families relocating completely or families buying second, weekend getaway homes? In which case they might have to wait for the economy to improve. And if it improves to the point that young families can afford 2nd homes, might they just might move here even without a new lodge?

Next: "build an attractive more functional facility that better connects to the pool with a central entry point” -Do you need to demolish an entire building? Can’t we just add a central entry point to connect the two buildings?

Next: "It will better support current and new activities. Better facilities for dinners, dances, weddings, movies, kid’s and young adult activities, fitness center, meetings, card clubs, ski hill, tube hill, and more.” -But, we have all of the above listed activities now. So what are the “new” or the “and more?” And please tell me you aren’t hoping to attract teenagers with foosball and Nintendo?!

Next: "Having a first rate facility for these activities will help to attract new membership and increase property values.” and "a new lodge will only help to attract membership and improve property values. We need to invest in our future.” - I know, it gets repetitious, right? But when you only have one talking point, I guess you just keep repeating it.

Now, here is my stab at logic:

Most children go to school 5 days per week for much of the winter.

Many children participate in extracurricular activities, such as sports, arts and science.

Many extracurricular activities, like sports, arts and science require weekday and weekend participation.

____________________________

So, most school children will have little time to use a building designed primarily for winter use, outside of a few weekends.

Are we to build a new lodge so that young families (who have not bought, nor moved here yet and thus actually do not exist) can use it two days per week, if that? We already have a restaurant that is only open 3 1/2 days during the academic year.

Beaver, do you want to go to Privatopia this weekend?

Golly jeepers, Mom, you know it’s the big game at school. And I promised the guys. Besides, what are we going to do there? Sit in the new lodge and play foosball or Nintendo? I can do that at home.

Here is another paragraph from our Board:

This is all about a long term investment in our future that will create value for our membership. Interest rates are at historic lows and will likely go up in the future. Construction costs go up 3 to 4% a year. It will only get more expensive to build as years go by.  -Sounds rather like a timeshare pitch or used car sale, doesn’t it?

We have just what you are looking for in a brand new lodge  -the latest in architectural engineering improvements  -longer lasting  -easy servicing  -fun to use  -plenty of room  -prices start at just $4,150,000, delivered!  -satisfaction guaranteed or your money back (if only!)

The board also tried to put this “it won’t cost you one cent" spin on it, by saying that instead of lowering the annual POA fee by $136, as promised, now that the prior loan has been repaid, they will keep those monies in the annual assessment and use it to repay our brand, spanking new loan. Kind of like using the “pug dog” economics theory from “Life with Father.” Have you read the book or seen the movie? They have a great scene where Mrs. Day purchases a life-sized ceramic pug dog for $15 from a NY department store. When Mr. Day spots it he flips. “What is this monstrosity? Get rid of it!” Their son, Clarence, wants a new suit from the same store and it also costs $15. Mrs. Day lets Clarence exchange the pug dog for the suit of clothes.

The suit is delivered, and Mr. Day sees the package and questions its contents.

Mrs. Day:     (explaining)It’s a new suit of clothes for Clarence, and it isn’t costing you a penny.
Mr. Day:     (looking at the package) It’s marked 'charge -$15.' It’s costing me $15.
Mrs. Day:     Clare, can’t you take my word? It isn’t costing you a penny.
Mr. Day:     I’d like to have you explain why it isn’t.
Mrs. Day:     Because Clarence took the pug dog back and got the suit instead.
Mr. Day:     Of course, and they’ll charge me $15 for the suit.
Mrs. Day:     Nonsense, Clare we gave them the pug dog for the suit. Don’t you see?
Mr. Day:     Then they’ll charge me $15 for the pug dog.
Mrs. Day:     But, Clare, they can’t. We haven’t got the pug dog. We sent that back.
Mr. Day:     (stammering) But, hmm, but..., now wait a minute, Vinnie. There is something wrong with your reasoning.
Mrs. Day:     Clare, I’m surprised at you. And you’re supposed to be so good at figures.  Why it’s perfectly clear to me.
Mr. Day:     Vinnie, they’re going to charge me for one thing or the  other.
Mrs. Day:     Don’t you let them!
Mr. Day:     Well, McClearys aren’t giving away suits and they aren’t giving away pug dogs. Why it should be clear to a child that if Clarence sent the pug dog back they… (stammering again) hmm… well… 

-at this point Mr. Day is so befuddled by his wife’s reasoning that he abruptly changes the subject.

I enjoy my POA community and I respect my Board. I have supported the Board's suggestions at each financial vote over the years. This time, however, I think they are wrong, and there's no shame in that. After all no one can always bat 1.000. If the vote goes through despite my opposition, that will be just fine. No hard feelings on my part. I will continue to respect my board, my community, pay my dues and follow the rules and regulations. $136 per year will not hurt me financially. I merely object to the demolition and replacement of a building that just needs a bit of TLC and some HVAC updating. And okay, perhaps some new furniture, some modern exercise equipment, and fine, fine! alright, a foosball, pool table and Nintendo. And you know, if we are going to focus on winter activities how about a nice ice skating rink or one of those fancy ice ribbons like they have at Maggie Daley Park in Chicago? Surely we can do all that for less than $4,150,00.00? 

NOTE: As a side note on attracting teenagers and young adults, both Harvard and Yale have completed thorough studies about teen participation in out-of-school activities. You can look them up on line, OR take my word that basically due to uber-busy schedules including, part-time jobs, sports, arts and other extracurricular activities, to say nothing of school and homework,  paid or volunteer internships, teens today have little time for hanging out at Privatopia-like havens. Teens who do have rare free time often prefer to hang out and have a pick-up basketball game or to go shopping with their friends. The desire to have parental or adult supervision plummets around the age 15 or 16. Having activities or gatherings with older adults around isn’t very appealing to teens and young adults. Surprise! Surprise!

Alas, such is the nature of teenagers. Privatopia should know this from the following report on a social event that resulted in the arrest of several teens: 

Minors arrested at drinking party

Carroll County Sheriff’s deputies and other agencies responded at 1:10 a.m. Saturday to a report of drinking party in the area of Pronghorn Court and Fawn Ridge Drive.
Eleven people from 18 to 20 years and four juveniles from 15 to 17 years, were taken to the sheriff’s department for processing. Two of the 11 were wanted on Stephenson County warrants; they posted bond and were released. Another one of the 11 was charged with obstruction of identification. He posted bond and was released. 
A search warrant was carried out at the home, and 30 more minors were found inside. All were processed and released to responsible parties, and all will receive notice to appear in court for consumption of alcoholic liquor as a minor. 
Chadwick, Lanark, Mount Carroll, and Savanna police, along with state troopers, state Department of Natural Resources police, Lake Carroll security, and the Carroll County State’s Attorney’s office assisted at the scene.

Is there any winter activity more wholesome than ice skating?

a flower grows

“Imagine what it was like when the dinosaurs roamed the earth,” my voice is barely above a whisper. I feel the small hand in mine clutch a bit tighter as we walk among large fronds from palms trees and then through an area lush with ancient ferns, mosses and outcroppings. We are enveloped by a fog-like mist and it’s not difficult to imagine the jurassic period. The older child, a couple of feet away, makes a low-pitched throaty sound. I look toward him and he smiles, “That was me,” to reassure us that there really isn’t a dinosaur milling nearby. It’s about 28 degrees fahrenheit outside, but we are warm and cozy, ensconced in the midst of sweet smelling, plant-purified air. 

I’ve been bringing my grandchildren to the Garfield Park Conservatory for about 10 years. The conservatory occupies 4.5 acres, including all of its indoor and outdoor areas. It stands proudly in the center of Chicago’s 185 acre Garfield Park. And it never ceases to stun me with its beautiful botanical treasure. It is a jewel of unmeasurable worth.

As you walk from one indoor room to another, you are bowled over with the ever-changing beauty of design, making each visit a unique experience. Oh, and did I mention that it’s free, with free parking? (Although donations are definitely welcome and well merited.) And when the harsh winter ends, they open up the outdoor gardens and the beauty seems to roll along forever. The first time I took our older grandson to the outdoor “city garden” he was about two. He ran out onto the lawn and threw himself on the ground, at first with his eyes closed he grasped the grass, then rolled onto his back, opened his eyes, laughing and throwing up his little arms, moving them as if he were awash in a sea of trees and birds and sunshine and clouds, that he could grasp, pull and place in his pockets.  

Yes, it is a jewel of unmeasurable worth, and one that is set in a war zone.

This grand piece of nature lies in an economically downtrodden neighborhood, one that is spiked with unfathomable gun violence, as at any given time, it can rank near the top in the nation for homicides by guns.

As I walk from my youngest grandchild’s home on the Northside of Chicago to the nearby Mariano’s grocery store, where well-dressed, young families peacefully abound, buying organic groceries or expensive ready-cooked meals, it’s hard to imagine that just 7 miles away, as the crow flies, that crow will leave a site with scads of young families safely and happily frolicking outside and fly to an area where young children, who aside from their walk to and from school, mostly remain inside their homes, for fear of stray bullets from warring gangs.

Like many U.S. cities, Chicago contains segregated neighborhoods. Although many areas  remain relatively unaffected by gun violence, in some neighborhoods the bloodletting is constant and unrelenting, and this is nearly always in black or Hispanic neighborhoods, where the victims are usually male.

When someone is shot, there are never any witnesses. I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t tell the authorities anything if it virtually guaranteed that I’d be the next victim. And I wasn’t raised with a lifelong mistrust or distrust of the police department. A code of silence is strictly enforced. It’s no different than turning evidence against the mafioso, except that there is no witness protection program for these people.

To whom does one turn for help if you can’t turn to the city officials? Even the religious leaders are stymied as to a permanent solution. Chicago's famed Catholic priest Michael Pfleger says, “Guns have become part of America’s wardrobe. People out here presume everyone has one, and they’ll tell you, ‘I’m going to draw mine before I get laid down.’ ” And throw in the fact that we, in the U.S., have a lily-livered Congress that kowtows to the gun and rifle associations' lobbyists (who insist "guns don't kill..." !) and thus refuse to put sensible restrictions on sales and ownership of assault weapons.

Teenagers are lured to gangs for companionship but also for a sense of protection, even though ironically it puts them at increased risk for one day becoming a statistic on the homicide chart. We all know that the teenage brain is not wired to think as logically as an adult brain, - “Consequence? What is consequence?"

Over a particularly bloody weekend, the youngest Chicago homicide victim is a 16-year-old boy, shot in the chest as he stands on a sidewalk in the East Garfield Park neighborhood. Was he a gang member? I don’t know, but I do know that 16 year old boys often make poor decisions, decisions they might rationalize differently were they lucky enough to live to be 28 years old.

There is a part of Werner Herzog’s Encounters at the End of the World documentary where a scientist discusses creatures found in the deepest of the oceans:  

"They range in the way that they would gobble you up from slime-type blobs, but creepier than classic science fiction blobs - these would have long tendrils that would ensnare you, and as you try to get away from them you just become more and more ensnared by your own actions. And then after you would be frustrated and exhausted, then this creature would start to move in and take you apart…" 

Werner Herzog responds (this may not be verbatim but it’s close):

“Life in the oceans must be sheer hell. A vast, merciless hell of permanent and immediate danger. So much of a hell that during evolution some species crawled... fled onto solid land.”

Come, come crawl away, flee from the danger and into the Conservatory, I think.

***

On a recent, unseasonably warm June day, I ask my youngest grandchild (almost 2 1/2 years old), “Where do you want to go today, to the beach or to Morning Glories?” Each Monday the conservatory hosts a program, for 2-5 years olds and their caregivers, called Morning Glories. There is no charge for this amazing program, where young children, mostly from privileged caucasian families, play in the sanitized dirt, dig for worms, plant seeds, mist the plants and flowers, have stories read to them, make take-home projects, -all against the prettiest backdrop you could envision. He’s a pretty sharp kid, so he replies, “Morning Glories first and then the beach."

I stand and watch as he clambers up a grass-covered hill and we look over the grounds. A Green Line CTA train passes nearby. As always, I’m astounded at the show of contrast between natural beauty and a city beset by combat. Just like the air purified by the trees, flowers and plants, there is a palpable change in this environment; the chaos of city life seems to have evaporated here and a sweet calm form of condensation falls upon us, like invisible raindrops. And I think of the flower that grows in a tiny crack or small fissure in the concrete...

Come on over, come on in, neighborhood children, this is your conservatory, too. Come, come and flourish...

a flower grows

grandson prepares to throw his small change into the ever-changing coin pond - this particular week a tribute to Prince

inspirational labyrinth

the ever cool cactus room

the fern room - when the misters are on seems like ancient america

the eye-popping color of the display room

the outdoor lily pond

the indoor koi pond

the indoor children's room slide

 this display just after the paris shootings, (when, I wonder, will I see a remembrance for
the nearby child victims of gun violence?)

would you believe me if I told you this is in the middle of "war-torn" Chicago?

Greatness from the Corner of Market and Main, (part two)

Where was I? Oh yes, on the corner of Market and Main Streets, just exiting the ice cream/coffee shop/bistro located across from the county courthouse, headed to the outdoor portion of a small, midwestern town's Memorial Day service.

The town seems to do the Memorial Day remembrance a bit different each year, but it always begins with a speech at the middle school, followed by an outdoor service that starts on the grounds outside the courthouse.

We find a shady spot on this unseasonably warm day. People are beginning to drift in from every direction, families, senior citizens, troops of brownies, girl scouts, cub scouts and boy scouts, individual military veterans…  -A motorcycle pulls up directly in front of us and a man in his 60s hops off, takes off his protective helmet, exposing a head of silver hair, upon which he places his veteran of foreign wars cap. A woman, carrying two military rifles, walks past. Kids of all ages clutch flowers in their small hands.

White crosses bearing the name of each war or conflict from the Spanish-American War to the present day Afghanistan War line the grounds on Market Street. Today’s celebration will include a portion where individual veterans ceremoniously place a wreath on each of the crosses, as we, collectively, pause a moment to remember those whose lives were lost.

Like I said, this little town seems to do the Memorial Day service a bit different each year, but no matter how it’s done, it never fails to bring me to tears. This year I am reduced to barely-controlled, audible sobs. Even the youngest of children seem to recognize the solemnity of the event.

As I gaze about taking in all of the people, I spot the guest speaker standing off alone. Usually Practical Husband, a Navy veteran, can identify the man’s uniform from at least 100 yards away as that of an Army Sergeant Major. I identify that he is a handsome, dignified black man. I’m happy to see a non-white person, representing our military in this rural area, with demography indicating a 98.53% white population. I could only have been more pleased had it been a female speaker. I glance at him once, okay maybe it was twice, before I decide to snap a photo, okay maybe it was two photos of him.

So I’m guessing, you probably don’t rise up through the ranks to the most senior enlisted position in the U.S. Army without some intelligence and observation skills. He has instantly noticed my glances and photo taking, and has fairly quickly made his way across the grounds to me. He extends his hand, respectively nods his head, looks me in the eye and addresses me, “Ma’am.” As I reach out, he envelops my hand with a warm, solid yet gentle enough grasp. I beam and he returns with an eye-crinkling, dimple-showing charmer of a smile. He asks how I’m doing. “I’m fine,” I answer. “I, as well, Ma’am,” he responds, “but I see I'd better check and find the location they’d like me to take,” as he gestures to the parade beginning to assemble. As he heads down the stairs, a gray-haired man extends his hand, “Thank you, Sgt. Major, for your inspiring speech. Very well done. I appreciate your words.” I can tell that Sgt. Major shook this man’s hand with a bit more firmness and physical strength than he did with my hand. He continues down the stairs to the middle of Market Street, where the veteran directing the ceremony puts his hand forth and escorts him to a spot saying, with utmost respect, “Sgt. Major, please stand here, directly behind our colors. I will walk beside you, followed by our veterans.” And so they line up, with the scout groups forming behind the veterans, followed finally by the veteran drummer and the trumpet player, followed by the tractor pulling the veterans, who due to age or injury cannot walk the distance to and from the cemetery.

An audible "Ten’ hut,” calls the Sgt. Major and veterans to attention, and you can see their spines and appendages immediately straighten. And as many times as I’ve heard the call and seen the reaction, it still fills me with a chilling pride for our military. The drum roll begins and the director calls “Forward march!”

As the groups pass, the audience files in behind and the procession to the river begins. "Ppparrumm, ppparrumm, pparrumm, ppumm, ppumm,” the group’s pace matches the beat of the snare drum. We stop at the river, where there is a twenty-one gun salute and Taps is played. Adults and children come forth and drop flowers in the river, to honor those who died in service for their country and are buried at sea.

The group reassembles and continuing to follow the cadence of the drum, marches to the town’s cemetery, where there is another twenty-one gun salute and Taps is again played. Flowers are placed on individual graves of those who died in military service.

I feel solemn, my heart weighted with sadness, and yet I feel good about myself, about this little midwestern town and about my country. There are many great places in the world to live. Many of those places have people who are also proud of their heritage and are also happy with their homeland. And so it is with me.

From the corner of Main and Market, I say, unabashedly, that America is great, it’s always been great, it’s always going to be great… But, recognizing that America doesn’t have a lock on “greatness,” as greatness comes not from a nation but from the individuals within a nation.

A cross for each conflict

a scout

a brownie

everyone assembling

I first spotted Sgt. Major chatting with this senior couple

veterans carrying wreaths

small town pride assembling

love seeing the female vets!

choke- sob

Sgt. Major

scouts assembling

cub scouts, then boy scouts

small town pride

the injured and infirm

flowers floating for those buried at sea

even pet spirit