Today, as we've done since our oldest son was 7 years old (he's 24 now!) we headed to our National Cemetery for their annual celebration. The day was perfect, mild temperature and gentle breezes made for a pleasant setting. We bring chairs and found just the right spot to watch the going ons of the program. The list and line up is long and fairly repetitious over the years. But still we go, we clap, we wave flags and I must admit I get teared up EVERY SINGLE TIME I hear the Pledge of Allegiance and the National Anthem.
The best part for me? People watching. Trying to figure out who served in what conflict or war, seeing the older ladies with no spouse along side of them, wondering how they got through those hard times. Seeing little kids, clearly having no clue what is going on, their longing to move on to something else, no matter what else. Seeing the older men, so proud of their time served, they shake hands with any and all who will stop and spend a minute asking "where did you serve"? I love seeing the guys and gals on the motorcycles roaring through the area, the men reminded me of my own uncles who served their time. And there are the younger service people, the ones who have stepped up and taken the call to serve our country. A call that all of these awesome men and women have given so much for so many.
The program ended with an impressive show of arms, followed by the playing of the taps and this year, a release of many doves over head.
A touching service to thank so many special people.
Yes, summer is off to a good start.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Thursday, May 7, 2015
My Momma's Hands
A person's hands tell a long story. The hands of our little Ely, all round and chubby, often sticky and very busy shows the starting point of this precious little boy's days. He is constantly learning, reaching out, yanking, pulling, those busy little fingers ever moving til he's plum tuckered out and just as quickly pops that little thumb in tight, showing just how tired he really is.
I see the hands of my own boys, once all soft and smooth, now showing how quickly they are growing up. Those hands are man-hand size, quickly enveloping my own hand as they grab on in passing. Now slightly roughened up, not the smooth baby skin that I treasured so long ago.
My baby girl's hands tell their own story, those hands cradled that little grandson, ever gentle in their care. And those hand are quick to dig into the newest project, be it in the garden or helping the in-laws at their place. Its like they don't know how to slow down and say no, constantly on the move. But at the end of her day, there is a soft touch for her Husband and Baby.
I see my own Mother's hands too, what a story they tell. A life time of raising a family, tending to a home and husband as well, working to make sure everything is just so. Constantly reaching out, giving all she can until the time comes when children move on, out on their own with families of their own. Providing care and support to a husband that in time, needed a constant kind of care. Those hands never wavered in their actions.
My Momma's hands now tell a different story. Slowing they begin to take a life of their own, bending and turning, moving slightly in a new direction. I watch as she talks, I see those hands move to tell a story she is sharing and they too tell the story. A story that began a lifetime ago and now those hands are tired, a little bent, knuckles shaped with a knotted look. At times those hands ache, ever so slightly, enough to get her attention, cause a shake of the head and then they move again. Telling a lifetime story in themselves. Yes, I watch my Momma's hands and I see much.
I see the hands of my own boys, once all soft and smooth, now showing how quickly they are growing up. Those hands are man-hand size, quickly enveloping my own hand as they grab on in passing. Now slightly roughened up, not the smooth baby skin that I treasured so long ago.
My baby girl's hands tell their own story, those hands cradled that little grandson, ever gentle in their care. And those hand are quick to dig into the newest project, be it in the garden or helping the in-laws at their place. Its like they don't know how to slow down and say no, constantly on the move. But at the end of her day, there is a soft touch for her Husband and Baby.
I see my own Mother's hands too, what a story they tell. A life time of raising a family, tending to a home and husband as well, working to make sure everything is just so. Constantly reaching out, giving all she can until the time comes when children move on, out on their own with families of their own. Providing care and support to a husband that in time, needed a constant kind of care. Those hands never wavered in their actions.
My Momma's hands now tell a different story. Slowing they begin to take a life of their own, bending and turning, moving slightly in a new direction. I watch as she talks, I see those hands move to tell a story she is sharing and they too tell the story. A story that began a lifetime ago and now those hands are tired, a little bent, knuckles shaped with a knotted look. At times those hands ache, ever so slightly, enough to get her attention, cause a shake of the head and then they move again. Telling a lifetime story in themselves. Yes, I watch my Momma's hands and I see much.
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