Sunday after the second Saturday...

This is my grandpa putting flowers on my grandma's grave for Decoration tomorrow.

I'm not sure why we started early.

If you're not from the Appalachians you may have never heard of Decoration Day. It's what the idea of Memorial Day came from. It warranted its own paragraph in Wikipedia under Memorial Day -

"Annual Decoration Days for particular cemeteries are held on a Sunday in late spring or early summer in some rural areas of the American South, notably in the mountains.
 

In cases involving a family graveyard where remote ancestors as well as those who were deceased more recently are buried, this may take on the character of an extended family reunion to which some people travel hundreds of miles.

People gather on the designated day and put flowers on graves and renew contacts with kinfolk and others.
 
There often is a religious service and a "dinner on the ground," the traditional term for a potluck meal in which people used to spread the dishes out on sheets or tablecloths on the grass.
It is believed that this practice began before the American Civil War and thus may reflect the real origin of the "memorial day" idea." 

This is my great- grandparents grave... I called them Ma and Pa but my Grandma, in true Appalachian fashion, called them Mommy and Daddy her whole life.

Further down this way in the Taylor Family Cemetery are the graves of my great great grandparents and my great great great grandparents.  Tomorrow morning the cemetery will be full of distantly related people we don't know and lots of firsts and second cousins we haven't seen since last Decoration.

This is my first Decoration since Moma's been gone.  Two years ago we all came down here for Decoration and my grandma was so sick - she would only live for another month after that. But she went everywhere with us. She was such a fighter.

I couldn't come the next year,... I had emergency surgery and couldn't get out of bed. 

So I've made trips in between to decorate her grave for the seasons, but this is different.  I've never been to Decoration without her.  What do I do, how do I act without her? This is her thing and I am just a supporting player with no one here to support.

I miss her so much.

Safely rest

I grew up on Army bases...I've probably heard 'Taps' played over a thousand times.

It ALWAYS affects you.  On base, when it's played every evening, you're expected as a civilian to stop what you're doing outside and hold your hand on your heart for the 24-notes it takes to play the song.

If you're driving, you stop the car.  If you're in uniform, you get out of the car and salute until the song is over.

The song is special.

Today I remember the more than one million Americans who have died serving in our Armed Forces.

Good memories, part 1

We spent Memorial Day at my grandparent's farm last summer.  My grandparent's farm - this is the place where I love to go for the peacefulness and the woods and the brilliant night sky.  I guess it's nice during the day, too, if it wasn't for the bugs and the heat and the sun and that since it's a family picnic you're not supposed to stay inside and read your book.

My daughter was doing softball at the time at the Y and I suggested we play baseball so she could get some practice.  My bossy brother heard me and insisted we play kickball instead.  I'm 31 and my brother is 36 and we still regress back to our childhood roles of him being bossy and me being sneaky.

He decided we were going to choose teams, that archaic schoolyard practice that still haunts me - I was always chosen last in elementary school.  But this time, my daughter was picking - she picked me first!  She also picked my 73-year old grandfather. 

This is the part that makes it my favorite memory.  I never knew anything until I saw my grandfather, who I love and admire and who I placed on a pedestal when I was five years old, playing this kickball game.  Determination.  Coaching - "Michelle, you need to run fast!".  Verve.  

And the best moment of all, Popa sprinting around third base and heading for home, with my bossy brother aiming for him, and so my 73-year old grandfather slides into home plate.  SAFE!  And the crowd roared.

It was a perfect moment.