Veterans Day 2024 Tribute #MusicMovesMe

It's Monday.  In the United States it's Veteran's Day (what many other countries call Armistice Day), and it's time for music.

Today I am joining up with other Music Moves Me bloggers (and you can join us at the linky below). We are a group of music loving bloggers who blog about music each Sunday or Monday (or even later in the week). If you have music to share with us, you are most welcome to join! (Music Posts Only-meaning at least one music video, please! Otherwise, your post may be labeled "No Music".)   

Our head host is Xmas Dolly, and our co-hosts are Cathy from Curious as a Cathy, joined by the knowledgeable Stacy of Stacy Uncorked and, last but not least, me.

Every other week, we have a theme.  On alternate weeks, we can blog on any music theme we want. This week's theme is "You Pick".  But before I begin, an announcement.

I am decreasing my footprint in the Blogosphere and once again trying to avoid social media, which is becoming more and more toxic.  My time has also become more limited.  So this will be a short post, and I may be delayed in visiting your post.

So, some musical selections today, both upbeat and sad.

Let's begin on an American patriotic note.  The Stars and Stripes Forever, performed by the United States Army Field Band and Soldier's Chorus.  This is a song whose tune can be enjoyed by everyone, regardless of where they were born or live.

Ray Charles and America the Beautiful.

In the United States, Veterans Day was expanded to honor all veterans, so my final selection honors the original intent of Armistice Day.  In Flanders Fields is a poem I post on my blog at least once a year.  Here it is, sung.

Written by a Canadian soldier in 1915 upon the battle death of his friend in Flanders, Belgium, during World War I, by a soldier who, himself, did not survive World War I, it is one of the most poignant poems I have ever read.  Here it is:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

John McCrae 

And that's a wrap, as I honor all veterans of war today, including those in my family.

Join me again next week for another episode of Music Moves Me.

Veterans Day 2023

The 11th day of the 11th month at 11am....some call it Remembrance Day.  In the United Sttaes, where we live, we call it Veterans Day.

Thursday, I honored my mother.  Today, I honor all veterans, including my spouse and my father.

Veterans Memorial Endicott, New York, undated, by me

My spouse joined the military in his early 20's.  He spent four years in service (all domestic) and our journey during those years took us from Florida to Texas to Kansas.  I don't think it's an exaggeration to say those years shaped us.  It was quite an education, and I am grateful for it.

I was what they called a military dependent for those four years.  It was an interesting experience and an eye opener.   I've not blogged too much about those years.  Perhaps, I should.

Then, there was my father.

Yesterday was the 58th anniversary of the untimely death of my mother.  I was raised after that point by my father. In those days there was little support for single fathers.

My late father suffered a traumatic brain injury during his World War II (non-combat) service with the Army Air Corp, and lived with seizures and other side effects for the rest of his life.  After he came back from war he found it near impossible to find employment, a fate that too many veterans of our modern wars suffer.  For a time, he ran a newsstand with another veteran.  Finally, he found a civil service job but was never able to rise too high in the ranks, due to his disability.

I never saw a trace of bitterness in my father although I know life was not always kind to him.

Which brings me to this poem.  

I am not a "poetry person" (although there are several poets I do enjoy, in part due to a blogger who posts poetry every Sunday) but this poem always touches my heart. Written by a Canadian soldier in 1915 upon the battle death of his friend in Flanders, Belgium, during World War I.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

John McCrae
 

The Sleeping Trees of Memory #ThursdayTreeLove

The trees of memory, they are in their winter hibernation.  Because Skywatch Friday is tomorrow, I am writing my Veterans Day post early.

Today, on the 57th anniversary of my mother's passing, I remember the trees.  There was the crabapple tree that was planted just outside the entrance of the apartment building in the Bronx (part of New York City) where I grew up.  Each May, I think of its beautiful blooming in a city of eight million people.

Now, crabapples line the street that intersects the street I live on, and other streets in this area. Bare now, they brighten the streets they are planted on each May.

My father was a veteran of World War II.  He served in non-combat roles as an airplane mechanic and also a military policeman in the Army Air Corp and had various postings, including one in India.  He returned home prematurely due to a head injury that left him suffering from seizures the rest of his life.

Memories...

When I was young, we would get mailings from various organizations, imploring us to send money to plant trees to honor a deceased loved one.

The weeping willows along Seneca Lake near Geneva, New York that commemorate the war casualties of World War I.  In many countries (France, Belgium, Australia, among others) November 11, the anniversary of the ending of that war,which we call Veterans Day here, is called Remembrance Day.

Here is one Canadian blogger's thoughts on Remembrance Day.  We in the United States do not pay enough attention to the fact that many of our allies have suffered in wars where we fought side by side.

Walking in our local park, I saw this oak tree glowing in the setting sun on Sunday.  The color is gone now, but the memory remains.  Soon, this tree will be fast asleep, too.

They bring back memories of snow, cold, and biting winds, the chill of winter that is about to descend upon us after a stretch of beautiful fall weather.

This Northern cardinal (this photo taken last year on Christmas Eve) is a symbol, where I live, of deceased loved ones sending love and positivity to you.  Yesterday, I saw both a male and a female cardinal sitting on this fence looking at me. 

Each Veterans Day (as we call Remembrance Day or Armistice Day in the United States I publish the poem "In Flanders Fields".  This year, I link to our own Veterans Administration for the history of this poem and why poppies have become the Flower of Remembrance.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Poppy, Riverside Drive, Binghamton, New York

May all our loved ones forever rest in peace-our beloved family members, our friends, and those lost in war. 

Joining Parul at Happiness and Food for #ThursdayTreeLove.

Veterans and PTSD

This is the 11th day of the 11th month and, in the United States, we call this day Veterans Day.  In other countries, it is called Remembrance Day.

I've written a number of posts about Veterans Day over the years.  Here are some of them:

The 11th Hour of the 11th Day.

The War that Didn't End Anything 

And, for my Canadian readers:

In Those Very Halls

Repeating a previous post, though, doesn't seem to do the job this year.  Afghanistan war veterans, especially, have found this year especially challenging.  I used to work with two women whose sons went off to that war, and came back....changed.

There is also my link above titled "The 11th Hour of the 11th Day", about the father of a man my spouse (a non-combat vet) served with in the military and his/his father's PTSD burden.

In their honor, I want to link to a special report on TV the other night on a PTSD boot camp which has helped those who go through the program.

It's only been in recent years that the military has come to address PTSD more openly.  Until recent years, a soldier just had to "suck it up", as the saying goes.

War is something you truly can't understand unless you've been through it, either as a civilian, or a soldier.  I am fortunate enough not to be in either category. 

I want to end this post with one of the several poems I really love, one that may be special to my Canadian readers, who call today Remembrance Day.  Let us remember all those touched by wars. 

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae
    In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow
         Between the crosses, row on row,
       That mark our place; and in the sky
       The larks, still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
       Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
                              In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
       The torch; be yours to hold it high.
       If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
                                In Flanders fields. 

Leonard Cohen recites the poem here.  

The poet, who fought in World War I, did not survive the war.

Will we ever have peace?

Veterans Day #WordlessWednesday

Yesterday was the 55th anniversary of the untimely death of my mother.  I was raised after that point by my father, a single Dad who had to cope all the rest of his life with the aftermath of a head injury suffered (not in combat but in support) in his service in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II.  

 
Today, let us all take a moment out of our busy schedules to think of those who made this day possible for us.

Our veterans, past and present, deserve our thanks, and so much more.

War Memorial, Skaneateles, New York.  It seems every village, every town, in this country has at least one war memorial.

I am not a "poetry person" but this poem always touches my heart. Written by a Canadian soldier in 1915 upon the battle death of his friend in Flanders, Belgium, during World War I, this says all that needs to be said about war.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
   Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Part of Soldier's Monument, Skaneateles, New York, near Skaneateles Lake.

 

Joining with Sandee at Comedy Plus today for #WordlessWednesday

Don't Just Thank Them For Their Service

Tomorrow is Veterans Day in the United States and Armistice Day in many other countries,

This holiday was originally to mark the end of World War I (the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month) but, now, we honor veterans of all wars. 

Tomorrow, as I do on all Veterans Days, I will think of my late father.

My late father suffered a traumatic brain injury (TBI) during his World War II (non-combat) service, and lived with seizures and other side effects for the rest of his life.  After he came back from war he found it near impossible to find employment, a fate that too many veterans of our modern wars suffer.  For a time, he ran a newsstand with another veteran.  Finally, he found a civil service job but was never able to rise too high in the ranks, due to his disability (we are, after all, talking of the 1950's and 1960's).

When I visit a city or town, I tend to gravitate to the war memorials.   For some reason, I feel like I am in touch with my father.

I've written several posts about veterans and war over the years, many Civil War oriented.  Here are some.
Blood chits.
Fighting the Civil War at a VA hospital
Veterans Day and Andersonville
Veterans Day

Which bring us to "Thank you for your service".  I've always been uncomfortable with this phrase, and I am not the only one.

I'll never know what my Dad thought about it.  He died over 30 years ago, before this became common.

But I am uncomfortable with it for the same reason that I always point out that my Dad did not serve in combat.  Not because my Dad's role as a support person (a mechanic, which led to the injury that caused the TBI) was unimportant and possibly dangerous.  But because a person in combat experiences things that change him or her forever.  They may be here physically, but in spirit is a whole other thing.  They pay a price that only other combat veterans, and those civilians who have suffered in war, can understand.  I know several mothers of combat veterans, and it gives one a whole new perspective into how lives can change forever.

I would say "Don't just thank them for their service.  Do something that helps them or their family - not charity, which they don't want, but offer them a role, a purpose, in their lives after their military service.  Let them know they are thanked, not just with several ritualistic words"

Tomorrow, let us pause and remember.

The War that Didn't End Anything

Monocacy battlefield, near Frederick, Maryland, 2012

Today is November 11, 2018.  One hundred years ago today, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, World War I ended.  It had been a war full of trenches, and chemical warfare.  It changed history in ways we wouldn't realize until years later.  It was supposed to be the war that ended all wars.  Today, Europe pauses and commemorates the anniversary of what they call Armistice Day.

My fellow blogger Roy wrote a fascinating blog post on its personal meaning to him.

And I wrote this post last year.

My father was a World War II veteran.  My spouse is a peacetime veteran.  I know, unfortunately, mothers of other veterans (Iraq/Afghanistan) whose sons have suffered due to their wartime service.  Our country still has a long way to go in helping these men and women.


Years ago, I visited the Peace Tower in Ottawa, Canada.  There is inscribed a poem called "In Flanders Fields".  I am not much of a poetry lover but this one of several poems that I have loved for years.

Here it is:  written in May, 1915 by Canadian Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, M.D. the day after his friend died in battle.  If you've ever wondered what Flanders Fields looked like right after the war, here's a photo.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Reenactment of 1862 battle of Antietam, Maryland September 2012

I've walked on many battlefields in the United States - a handful of Revolutionary War battlefields (in New York, Pennsylvania and South Carolina) and Civil War battlefields (Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, Missouri, Arkansas).  I have never been off the North American continent.  One day, I hope to travel abroad and pay my respects to those who died in the War that was supposed to end all wars.

Finally, I want to thank everyone who reached out to me due to my post yesterday.  It's my cousin (and his wife) who are truly suffering and, today, I want to reach out and thank my cousin for his service in the United States Navy on a submarine.  If any of you have ever been on a submarine, you know that it is a very different type of service, requiring a different kind of bravery.

I thank him, and all others who fought for our freedom. 

If only World War I had truly been the war that ended all wars, but it wasn't.  There was a young foot soldier who had fought for the Germans.  His name was Adolf Hitler.....

The 11th Hour of the 11th Day

The 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour, we pause to commemorate (what we call in the United States) Veterans Day.  My father was a World War II veteran (non combat) as was my father in law, but many others have paid the ultimate price to defend their countries.

Sometimes, that price isn't death, but something the veteran lives with for the rest of his/her life.

Monuments are nice, but they don't tell the whole story of the suffering of those men and women.

Many years ago, when we were a lot younger and my spouse was serving in the military, we befriended a younger single man.  At the time we were stationed in Kansas.  This young man had grown up in Missouri.  One day he invited us to his parents' home in rural Missouri.

I got the feeling this invitation was quite a leap of faith for him.  That
he didn't do this kind of thing very often.    We accepted the invitation and spent a weekend with his family.

His father was a Korean War veteran.  It was a Saturday night and,we were warned, the father was going to overindulge in alcohol.  And so he did.

It was obvious that this inebriated older man was reliving his experience in war.  He was in the middle of a battle.  He shouted out commands.  He fought demons only he could see.  Finally, he was carried to bed.

Our friend's mother explained this happened every weekend.  Long ago, the father was young and in battle.  His commanding officer was killed.  The Dad received a battlefield promotion and he was suddenly in charge.   It did something to him, hurt him in a way he was never able to recover from.  Every Saturday night he would seek solace in the bottle. Although he relived the battle and was obviously suffering, in the morning he would remember nothing.

I have never been in war.  I know people who have.  I know people who were civilian casualties of war, too.  But this Korean War veteran has stuck in my mind over many years.  We never received another invitation.  We drifted apart when our friend, sadly, became more interested in drugs than in our friendship.  In his own way he fought demons too.

War claims many victims and I wish we treated our veterans with the respect they deserve.  Not just lip service.  It's improving over the years but we have a long way to go.  It isn't just about free breakfasts and discounts on mattress sales.

I wish I could tell our friend today we were not ashamed of what we saw.  I wasn't mature enough then to understand.  Now maybe (maybe) I am.  My friend's father passed away in 2015. I hope that he has found peace at last.

Veterans #atozchallenge

I don't remember when I first got into the habit of reading the obituaries in the newspaper each morning.

Reading obituaries is the ultimate in traveling through time and space.

Every once in a while, I get the sudden urge to check on whether someone I knew long ago is still alive.  It usually doesn't end well.  For example, when I planned to visit Arkansas (where I lived almost 30 years ago, and had never been back) I looked up several people not long before I was planning to leave - my first boss, my two next door neighbors, and found out they had all died in the past several months. 

Well, back in March I published a post about Sid Hashian, the drummer of the rock band Boston on their first two albums.  I talked about a then-young man who had introduced my spouse and I to the band in 1977.


I had to know if he was still alive. Bad habit.  I knew that another young man who was a mutual friend of ours had died several years ago.  A part of me wanted to know if the friend we had lost track of years ago was still around, and a part of me didn't.

When I did an Internet search, I didn't find the ex-friend's obit.  But I did find his father's.  And, if you ask why that is significant, it is because his father's obituary brought back the memory of a good man, a man I only met once, but a man whose memory had stuck in my mind ever since.

That memory stuck enough that I wrote about our friend's father in my Veteran's Day post on November 11, 2009.  And now I know the answer to the question I asked at the end of the post, where I wondered if that veteran tormented by his war service had found peace. 

In 2015, he finally did.

Rest in peace.

Not all travels have happy endings.