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I remember when Memorial Day was one of the few things we could agree on. Soldiers die, in battles or because of them. Honor them, and what they fought for. Now, though, it's just another chance for the nutjobs to snark over insufficient observances by us damn Libs. Apparently the nutsosphere went ballistic the other day because VP Harris tweeted a wish for an enjoyable three-day weekend without enough putting enough sackcloth and ashes in her Memorial Day grill. No mention of their deposed dictator's having sent out "Happy Memorial Day" tweets on this day two years ago, back when he could do such things. Then we had this exchange between the possibly dumbest member of the House and a lawyer friend of mine:
I added my own contribution to the ongoing thread of Laurental Illness:
#LaurenBoebertIsSoDumb when she heard it was Memorial Day she showed up at a radiologist with a scrip from her OB/GYN
Don't get me wrong; I've done the drill of the Day many times. Most recently, it was six MD's ago that I made the journey to the (Alleged) Birthplace of It All in Waterloo, New York, but on the official federal holiday that was 5/25 that year. Waterloo used to stick strictly to the traditional May 30 observance regardless of when it falls, although they more recently began building a touristy event out of the entire three-day weekend. For the past two years they've kept things limited to just the short parade and wreath laying due to COVID. Back in 2015, there was not much doin' on the Monday before the "real" MD, although the museum was open and I got to post the pictures you see there. Two years before that, I only breezed through Waterloo and continued on to Citi Field, where I took in my first Subway Series game with both teams in military camo. I can't find that entry and it likely had its Facelinked pics stripped anyway.
But my Memorializing provenance goes even way backer than that:
From my high school yearbook: the lyrics way above are from John Denver; the caption directly above is from me. I did the Memorial Day Marching Band drill for six years as an older kid, and without music as a Cub Scout before that. So I have standing to request something on the setlist:
Play all the Sousa and Irving Berlin and Francis Off Key you want. But work in “Fortunate Son” by CCR, because that’s a big part of what recognizing sacrifice on Memorial Day is really all about, Charlie Brown: bone spurs.
----
Speaking of Fortunate Sons, I took the day-off part of the holiday weekend to finally sit down and begin reading a nonfiction book that a blog referenced weeks ago. It's been sitting on my side table and not cracked through two library renewals until yesterday. It's about a secretive and overly influential organization that goes just by the name "The Family," best known publicly for sponsoring the annual National Prayer Breakfast that politicians of both parties seem beholden to attend. Until his 2017 death, their leader, Doug Coe, was probably the most powerful man in American and world politics I'd never heard of. I also hadn't heard of the Netflix adaptation of the book (and another by the same author), which is largely faithful to the telling of The Family tale and which I've decided to watch only up to the point I've read to each day. Among the actors shown, along with the author and many of the former participants in the cult, is James Cromwell in the role of Doug Coe.
Pity Coe died in 2017. He's gotta rise from the dead a decade from now so he can invent warp drive.
----
We don't do family gatherings or much in the way of food comas for holidays like this; Eleanor had a shitty day at work and it was bacon and eggs for dinner after we finished Mare of Easttown. But we do pay attention to the comings and goings, and on one side of the house, both driveways were denuded of the boats that appeared in each over the past couple of years.
Both couples rent their homes. The ones closest to us, we've had some bad moments with over the years, but we've mostly made peace since then and there have been occasional acts of kindness exchanged. Across the next street from them, a couple who moved here from Maine two summers ago when Lisa needed to care for her elderly parents who've always lived around Western New York. She's a sweetheart, and her SO Glenn is a funny man of many talents. His passion since last summer has been renovating a 1960 Penn Yan that he basically got for free in exchange for buying its trailer. Last summer was mechanical work; since April, he's been painting, restoring the original engine, and today they took it on its first trip into actual water since the early 70s- a small lake not far from my travels in the middle of last week.
The verdict? It didn't sink. Thar be more engineerin ta be done, Captain, but he's working on it. We've been invited onboard once things get a bit more stable. Maybe warp drive will be in by then.
Our closer neighbors aren't home with theirs yet. It's a more ordinary 90s-vintage motorboat, and we saw him out there over the past several weeks doing a paint job of his own. Eleanor's pretty sure he doesn't know what he's doing; she saw him spray-painting part of the hull at one point. Me? I'm not going to venture a guess about such things, but I will say one thing to his credit: at least once or twice during the process, he had his stepdaughter, just turned 13, out there with him and he was showing her what he was doing. That instantly put the kid in a better training program than I ever got from my own father on just about anything. Hopefully they'll be home soon from a day with good Memories; if not, maybe Zefram Cochrane can transport them back to dry land;)
I added my own contribution to the ongoing thread of Laurental Illness:
#LaurenBoebertIsSoDumb when she heard it was Memorial Day she showed up at a radiologist with a scrip from her OB/GYN
Don't get me wrong; I've done the drill of the Day many times. Most recently, it was six MD's ago that I made the journey to the (Alleged) Birthplace of It All in Waterloo, New York, but on the official federal holiday that was 5/25 that year. Waterloo used to stick strictly to the traditional May 30 observance regardless of when it falls, although they more recently began building a touristy event out of the entire three-day weekend. For the past two years they've kept things limited to just the short parade and wreath laying due to COVID. Back in 2015, there was not much doin' on the Monday before the "real" MD, although the museum was open and I got to post the pictures you see there. Two years before that, I only breezed through Waterloo and continued on to Citi Field, where I took in my first Subway Series game with both teams in military camo. I can't find that entry and it likely had its Facelinked pics stripped anyway.
But my Memorializing provenance goes even way backer than that:
From my high school yearbook: the lyrics way above are from John Denver; the caption directly above is from me. I did the Memorial Day Marching Band drill for six years as an older kid, and without music as a Cub Scout before that. So I have standing to request something on the setlist:
Play all the Sousa and Irving Berlin and Francis Off Key you want. But work in “Fortunate Son” by CCR, because that’s a big part of what recognizing sacrifice on Memorial Day is really all about, Charlie Brown: bone spurs.
----
Speaking of Fortunate Sons, I took the day-off part of the holiday weekend to finally sit down and begin reading a nonfiction book that a blog referenced weeks ago. It's been sitting on my side table and not cracked through two library renewals until yesterday. It's about a secretive and overly influential organization that goes just by the name "The Family," best known publicly for sponsoring the annual National Prayer Breakfast that politicians of both parties seem beholden to attend. Until his 2017 death, their leader, Doug Coe, was probably the most powerful man in American and world politics I'd never heard of. I also hadn't heard of the Netflix adaptation of the book (and another by the same author), which is largely faithful to the telling of The Family tale and which I've decided to watch only up to the point I've read to each day. Among the actors shown, along with the author and many of the former participants in the cult, is James Cromwell in the role of Doug Coe.
Pity Coe died in 2017. He's gotta rise from the dead a decade from now so he can invent warp drive.
----
We don't do family gatherings or much in the way of food comas for holidays like this; Eleanor had a shitty day at work and it was bacon and eggs for dinner after we finished Mare of Easttown. But we do pay attention to the comings and goings, and on one side of the house, both driveways were denuded of the boats that appeared in each over the past couple of years.
Both couples rent their homes. The ones closest to us, we've had some bad moments with over the years, but we've mostly made peace since then and there have been occasional acts of kindness exchanged. Across the next street from them, a couple who moved here from Maine two summers ago when Lisa needed to care for her elderly parents who've always lived around Western New York. She's a sweetheart, and her SO Glenn is a funny man of many talents. His passion since last summer has been renovating a 1960 Penn Yan that he basically got for free in exchange for buying its trailer. Last summer was mechanical work; since April, he's been painting, restoring the original engine, and today they took it on its first trip into actual water since the early 70s- a small lake not far from my travels in the middle of last week.
The verdict? It didn't sink. Thar be more engineerin ta be done, Captain, but he's working on it. We've been invited onboard once things get a bit more stable. Maybe warp drive will be in by then.
Our closer neighbors aren't home with theirs yet. It's a more ordinary 90s-vintage motorboat, and we saw him out there over the past several weeks doing a paint job of his own. Eleanor's pretty sure he doesn't know what he's doing; she saw him spray-painting part of the hull at one point. Me? I'm not going to venture a guess about such things, but I will say one thing to his credit: at least once or twice during the process, he had his stepdaughter, just turned 13, out there with him and he was showing her what he was doing. That instantly put the kid in a better training program than I ever got from my own father on just about anything. Hopefully they'll be home soon from a day with good Memories; if not, maybe Zefram Cochrane can transport them back to dry land;)