interesting to me: May 2002 Archives

This one got to me to..if anyone knows of who wrote it please let me know so I can give proper credit where it is due.
Thank you cal for helping me know who to give credit to *s*

I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
so young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.

I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of the fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.

Copyright 1981 by Kelly Strong

Here's another one I'm sure many of us have seen several times, but still bears repeating. Though it might be more appropriate for Veterans day to me Memorial day has always stood for remembering all who have served..not just those who died..and we can never have to many days to do that..

WHAT IS A VET

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking.

What is a vet?

He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.

He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She or he-is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.

He is the POW who went away one person and came back another-or didn't come back AT ALL.

He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat-but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.

He is the parade-riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.

He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket-palsied now and aggravatingly slow-who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being-a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU."

"It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag."

Father Dennis Edward O'Brien, USMC

**WARNING** This is not a happy post, if your looking for light-hearted content go elsewhere.

I got a phone call today..my mom called me because my Aunt had called her today..instead of tomorrow or Sunday like we were hoping..but I'm getting ahead of myself *sighs*

I found out last night my Grandma is back in the hospital, some of you may remember from last year when my sister and I took a trip up to see her with my kids (2 of which she had never met)..she has lung cancer.
my aunt was supposed to call Sunday after she talked to the Dr.'s tomorrow or call tomorrow after she spoke to them if it didn't look good..
they called her today..
My Grandma will not be leaving the hospital alive it seems...
The cancer has spread all through her lungs, and the aneurysm is getting bigger (its on her aorta)

the damn thing about this is we were all supposed to be getting together in July when one of my cousins got married, she had 9 kids, 8 are still alive, and 4 of them live out of state, they were ALL going to be there, plus their kids, and kids kids..you get the picture..this woman has will be leaving one hell of a legacy I tell you..

she raised her kids single handed, in a time when that was usually only done due to spousal death, her husband left her to go it alone and she did! she never remarried...and all of her children love and adore her...as they should shes truly an amazing woman...

I remember when we lived near her and later when we moved and would take vacations to go visit her..she never was the typical baking cookies, story reading, kind of grandma..but I never had so much fun as when we were there. now that I'm older and know her as an adult she just amazes me..she always has, her strength and determination just blow me away..after my divorce it was her who helped me the most, we only talked one time but she was the one that said something that helped me more than anything.

She's fought off this monster for so long..I know she's tired..and I know soon she won't be in pain anymore..but that doesn't mean I will miss her any less..

I know most of us have seen this before, but its definitely worth repeating

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick
toddlers in their arms, saying it's OK honey, Mommy's here." when
they keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their
hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew
Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal
bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night, so that when
their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I
wouldn't have missed it for the world,".... and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery
store in despair. Because their kids stomp their feet like a tired 2-
year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and
explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted
to but just couldn't.

For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a
year. And then read it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their
shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who
opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their
daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little
voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own off
spring are at home.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with
stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there,
only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to
please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find
the words to reach them.

For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed -
when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

What makes a good Mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad
hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a
shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or
daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the
very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2
A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you
hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings, and
the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the
survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,
hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their
children's graves.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep
deprivation.

And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-
at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all.

So hang in there.

Home is what catches you when you fall - and we all
fall."

well the friday five is down for the time being so I'm posting an older one from the archives

1. What are the first things that you do in the morning to start your day
Well let me start by saying my mornings are not when everyone elses morning is. I work night shift so my 'morning' actually starts at about 2:30pm most days. (except days off) I start them pretty much the same way though, get up, drink coffee, check email, and then go get my kids from school.

2. What are the last things that you do at night before going to bed?
I get off work, go pick up my kids and take them to school, come home and eat something, set up the coffee pot, check email and throw the cats off my spot in the bed so I can get some sleep *s*

3. What daily routine have you recently added to your day?
here lately it seems to be playing Mario Land 3 with my 8 year old.

4. What routine do you wish you could get rid of?
well let me see, laundry, dishes, cooking, oh and definitally fighting w/ the ex about the kids.

5. What's the one thing that makes you feel like something is missing if you don't do it some point within your day? oh this ones easy, talking to my gal on the phone *happy sighs*