When "thank you" seems "not enough"...

How to say "thank you" to those who have gone before us? How to understand what they have experienced, sacrificed, weathered? How to let them know we will remember and attempt to pass the baton to the next generation?

Dennis's dad, affectionately known as Granpa to our family and friends-beyond recently participated in a local Rotary Club's Honor Air flight to Washington DC. This is one organization of many around America that focuses on honoring those "ordinary people who saved the world" by providing opportunity for a free day trip to visit the World War II Memorial in DC.

Seventy veterans made the trip on April 14th, each accompanied by an escort of their own selection. To accompany him, Granpa chose Eric, our oldest son, also a veteran having served in Korea, Afganistan, and Iraq. Pre-dawn,the group gathered at a central location from which they were led via police escort to Hartsfield International Airport. The entourage of police vehicles, motocyle honor brigade, three red, white and blue buses bearing vets, and follow-up squad cars drove under a celebratory arch formed by two firetrucks with ladders extended. Fireman atop each ladder held a pole between them from which hung an American flag. It was quite a goose-bumpy visual in the early (albeit rainy) morning light. 

Once aboard the chartered flight, veterans found the cabin decked out  quite patriotically. Firetrucks at Reagan Field in DC created a welcoming water-spray arch into which the plane landed, while representatives from various military branches stood sentinel and hundreds of citizens cheered welcoming the honored guests. 

The rainy day did not dampen the spirits of those who, years ago, endured so much more that we might enjoy the freedoms we sometimes take all too lightly. The vets, many in wheelchairs or with canes, soaked up (no pun intended) the sites with the culmination of the day being the changing of the guard ceremony at Arlington. One can only imagine the awe of the moment as octogenarians and nonagenarians remembererd comrades and days spent on the front lines. 

Granpa married Gramma a week before he went off to WWII. He served with the 44th Infantry Division of the US Army National Guard in the European Theater. His last name made for interesting situations. Soldier's names were emblazoned on their helmets. Sometimes, a German POW would approach Scheidt thinking they could speak German together.  But Granpa no sprechen sie Deutsch. The incident brings to mind Civil War stories of brothers fighting on opposite north-south sides.  And really, that's always the way with war, is it not? Brothers fighting. 

Photos were taken. Contact informations, swapped. Articles appreared in newspapers. Facilitators were acknowledged and life goes on. Remembrances are tucked away in the treasure trove of memories to be taken out and examined on other days. How can we know how much it means to be honored and appreciated long after the battle is fought, the victory won? We can only guess, but we have detected tears in Granpa's eyes as he reflects on the fact that "not everyone who served got to do this". We, with him, feel very blessed. Indeed, there are others who remember, who are passing the baton to the next generation. Our son remembers. His son Emery, now stationed in Germany with the US Army, has picked up the legacy. 

And there are others. Last night at a church supper, we sat with a young officer now involved with training Rangers. Attentively, he leaned into our retelling of the awesome trip Granpa has just experienced. Quite humbly, this young man shared that he had once served as a part of the Honor Guard at Arlington. Although, the visitors to that hallowed ground included kings, queens, dignitaries and diplomats from all over the world, none, he said, was as moving to him as the WWII vet who would laboriously raise himself from his wheelchair in a proud salute.

God bless America.

God bless our veterans.

Meltdown

Okay, so this is not the post I intended to write today. I am already two or three themes behind in my mind. Plus the fact, that after a speaking engagement Sunday evening, a dear friend exhorted me to "practice what I preached" and to say "yes" to my own desire to write. She encouraged me to post the contents of the musings I shared with the ladies gathered at a girl-friend evening. That will have to wait for another day.

Today, I am tangled in the mesh of the internet. (They don't use terms like web and net for no reason.) In order to act as discussion leader for a Saturday group coming up, I need to have listened to some online audios. Easy enough? One would think so. It seems my ipad does not support the  (blah, blah, blah) whatever it is, so the material had to go to Dropbox where I could access it on the desk-top (cozy & cute, not!) and listen directly from there. More steps, more ID's and PW's and a more-than-patient friend who made that happen from across town. Now then, I end up with six or seven emails from Google Chrome after resetting security codes, etc because I had not used that particular device in a long time. All set to listen and the audios (hurrah!) are actually loaded on Dropbox. I click the little arrow and see the seconds ticking away. No sound. The speakers are on. I crawl into the scary place under the desk and check the wad of cords through spider remains (more of those webs) and dust bunnies to be sure all are connected to the PC, electricity and one another. Alas, no sound. The little volume icon on the screen indicates sound is at full tilt. Not so.  Groan. 

Okay, after several hours (truly) I give up.

Moving right along to the next project for the day, I decide to attempt to send photos to Walmart to have copies made. This feat I accomplished last week (all by myself) and it worked. For some reason, strange things are popping up on the screen today and I cannot get beyond "upload photos". They are all just sitting there staring at me, with no icon in sight that would help me move any closer to the pick-up counter at Walmart. Sigh.

More hours gone.

I quit. I am running away to Key West. Alexander (who had the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day) announced to all that he was headed to Australia. Not going there. That would take a plane ticket, more frustration with the internet, and result in eyes more red and swollen than those I wear at the moment. I have labored over the wonderful, modern technology for ions of time this morning with no results. Prayed, tried hard, (my kids often think I am feigning ignorance), researched and cried. I cannot do this. I am going to thank God for the way He has made me and be open to learning new tricks, if He  has that in the plan for this "old dog". Meanwhile, I am going to leave the enigma of the web behind and do what I know how to do today.  I will craft a note of encouragement and blessing to several young people in my life who are about to graduate....another to my friend whose son is marrying in two weeks as she moves her mother into hospice. I will clean up the yard sale remains, bake for tomorrow's church supper, fold laundry and dwell in my own domain. 

PS And why, you may ask, is she not using this time to dig deeper into the annals of computer science. I have sniffled enough for one day. Sometimes, we just need to see an immediate result. My daddy used to say, "An honest confession is good for the soul" (or is that scripture? Sometimes, I mix the two.) I confess that I cannot, at this point, embrace the plethora of creative & educational options for this generation out there on the net. Give me my pen & paper, scissors & hard copies, spatula & rolling pen.