O, Day of Labor…..

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I get these pop up horoscopes in my email. I read them in case something good might be ready to happen. For Sunday, I was destined to have “a new sense of peace and quiet” with everyone “concentrating on their own projects” and “less on socializing.” My house would be “a peaceful haven.” Ommmmm.

So what with this being the unofficial end of summer we might as well get the gang together for a last, peaceful blast. Nothing fancy. Just burgers, hot dogs, baked beans, chips. Oh, and sauerkraut for the hot dogs. A nice, quiet send off before school starts and the autumn rush begins. Just a burger and a handful of chips. No labor. Easy peasey.

But:

Jimmy and Sangela came first and they brought two big boxes of fresh, beautiful strawberries that we could have for dessert so that was good and I put them in the kitchen and we went out to the pool to get a cold drink and wait for the other revelers but we didn’t have long to wait because in another minute, in came Jill and Scott and Ryan bringing a bag full of fresh corn which would fit in nicely with our simple little barbecue fare and another pound of hot dogs plus rolls and pickles so we can make that delicacy called Prairie Dog Bat Masterson, a secret family recipe, not my family, oh, and those chicken wings, yes, ok, good, an appetizer is a great idea so go on, dive in because here come Joan and Nanu the Wonder Dog, just look out because Nanu is apt to charge through the house greeting all of us without waiting for Joan to take off the harness so stuff might fall over and she can unveil the treasures she has brought, including veggies for grilling, guacamole, salsa, tortilla chips, veggie burgers, veggie hot dogs, Swiss cheese, pickle chips, and three, yes, three favors of Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, which should spiff up the strawberries very nicely, thanks, and what would you like to drink, oh, look, Mike and Lynn just pulled up, yay, Uncle Mike, woo hoo, Ryan executes a flying leap, Nanu barks and does The Dance of Joy, but oh, let me take those containers you brought, packed with pasta salad to complement the burgers, hot dogs, wings, beans, sauerkraut, Prairie Dogs, veggie burgers and veggie dogs, pickles, and your brownies, too, another tidbit to have with the strawberries and the ice cream, nothing fancy, just simple food with no muss, no fuss, as soon as I find enough platters, bowls, and baskets to hold the loot, but really, everybody outside and fetch yourself a cold drink or jump in the pool, the water’s great and I’ll be there in a minute.

Meanwhile:

imageAunt Lynnie brought two big bags of grape gumballs and Ryan said oboy, purple poop, and Nanu brought his football so some of us had to throw it as far as we could so he could run after it and Aunt Joan wanted Nanu to stop running and drink water imagebut somebody accidentally tripped on his water dish and it spilled and I had to get him more, with ice, while Uncle Mike imagewatched a YouTube of the Andrews Sisters singing like The Supremes and he said they looked like a comic club in the Mummers Parade and other people cooled off in the pool or with a nice cold beverage or bothimage and someone (Ryan) came up with a great idea that he, his mom, and Uncle Mike should perform a synchronized plunge into the water like Esther Williams but nobody was following directions and I tried to take a photo imagebecause I was ready to sort out the food so we could get the grills going but gee, is that a big grey cloud heading this way, we had better decide what we’re doing, hello, is anybody listening, ok, let’s ignore the cloud, it’s only misting, so get those burgers and all those other gourmet treats out here and can we eat soon, sure, no problem, veggies, burgers, hot dogs, did I mention sausage, beans, sauerkraut, whatever the heck else…..the game is on. image

Suddenly:

Even though the food portion of the program came together nicely and I actually ate a hot dog, not veggie one, with sauerkraut and had a Coors Light and others engaged in a feeding frenzy of burgers, hot dogs, you know, all that stuff I said before, the mist became a little more aggressive and while some of us warned about impending doom and started to carry stuff back indoors, others defied the mist because there were umbrellas for shelter and hey, it’s only water, and BLAM! a simultaneous crash of thunder and lightening changed their minds and the accompanying deluge caused a flurry of activity and a lot of wet people, wet paper plates, wet dogs, and wet food came charging inside and Ryan said it felt cozy, imagewhich it did, sitting on the floor with our wet plates while the rain intensified to monsoon level and the thunder claps and lightening bolts made Nanu psychotic but we were able to overcome it all by having strawberries, three kinds of ice cream, and brownies, plus Nanu had a Frosty Paws doggie ice cream image that took his mind of the weather outside, which was frightful, but the desserts were so delightful that nobody cared and just as suddenly the sun came back out and there was even a rainbow (it’s there…look closer) image but by then it was getting late and people thought they ought to head home so whose earphones are these, whose phone is this, does Ryan have all his chargers, where are your sunglasses, take some of this food back with you, gee, there isn’t much left after all, ok, thanks for coming…bye….see you in a couple of weeks….sorry you have to go back to school….or work….drive safely….bye….

So:

The universe snickered, the family did not seek peace, the labor-free day crashed ablaze in a glorious mob scene of funny stuff and food, and me? I slept like a baby. I guess that was the peaceful part.

O Day of Labor, aptly named. Sorry to see thee take summer away. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for autumn.

Happy Labor Day to all, especially the members of The International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, and Local 98 in Philadelphia.

Warm and Dry, that’s me

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I will not accept the ALS Challenge so save your nominations for those who feel the need to drench themselves in ice water. It’s a great cause. It’s a cute way to highlight the disease. But I ain’t doin’ it.

It’s not cute anymore, it’s boring. Even when people try to come up with clever ways to get soaked, or to soak others……..well, there are only so many ways to do it.

So then they invent other ways. The sneak attack. The second floor pour from above. The self pour, the multi-sided pour, the pour from the earth mover.

Or the actually pretty good combination of the sneak attack Presidential pour that Laura Bush perpetrated on George. She seemed to really like that.

Of course, there are the disaster pours, too. The ones where the bucket hits     the victim instead of just the water. Funniest Home Videos, here we come!

A friend in Belgium took the challenge and then was chastised for not having enough ice in the water. His response: well, we don’t have giant refrigerators here that make tons of ice!

But I have to say the pics and posts of people playing with water were a refreshing antidote to all the other news. The riots, the beheadings, the bombings, the monsoon floods…….. For that, I am grateful.

But we have run the theme out. I’m sure the ALS researchers are pleased. As they should be. And the victims and their families and friends are grateful and encouraged. The response is humbling. I can only wish that the folks who poured the water now know more about ALS.

So let’s find something else to do. Come on, summer’s almost over! We have beaches to explore, sleeping in to do, s’mores to squish…..

That’s it: The S’More Squish Challenge! Most creative squish. Biggest squish. Sneakiest squish. Squish not using chocolate, marshmallows and graham cracker squish. Presidential squish? And why not?

You get what I’m saying, right? Not trying to be mean. No, really.

Moving on…….more Musings later. Wait til you hear what I have to say about Small Plate Restaurants………

 

Random Musings

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I sent a birthday card to a friend having one of those significant, milestone birthdays. The card said how valuable and collectible our old childhood favorite toys would be today, with the sentiment ” You’re not old, you’re collectible.”

I like it: collectible. A keeper. Something to hang on to. A person/thing/memory of value. I wrote a message on the card wishing him a ‘collectible’ day.

A few days later, he sent me an email thanking me for the card. He said he had spent the day with his two adult kids and his Absolutely Perfect Grandson. They hung out, ordered pizza…okay, salad, too….and just enjoyed the day. Sounds like it was collectible.

My new signoff now will be Have A Collectible Day. Just so you know. Although that bit about our childhood toys…..got me to thinking.

I got a Toni doll from Santa when I was about six. I saw my exact Toni doll, whom I called Alice, in an antique store on Pine Street in Philadelphia. Price tag: $400. Ah well.

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Here’s little me with some of my now collectible dolls. That’s Alice there in the front–the cute blonde with the red bow and plaid jumper. Wow, look at some of those other oldies but goodies: Little Lulu, Howdy Doody, The Magic Lady, Jerry Mahoney. I could have been rich! 

I’ll Bet It Seemed Like A Good Idea

You boomers out there, you know we’re bombarded with all kinds of targeted advertising of, let’s say, questionable taste.

Bladder leakage? No problem. We have pads of ever size, shape and, absorbency! And for you guys, we have ’em shaped like, well, like you! Overactive bladder? A little pill will take care of that. Forget looking for the restroom! You might not even need those pads!

Oh, yeh, and we have pills to relieve that pesky painful sex if you’re a gal of a certain stage of life. Which you might need if you are closely related to someone who is a guy in need of a pill that makes him want to sit side by side with you in a couple of old claw foot bathtubs and see if his heart is healthy enough for sexual activity.

But friends, I recently received, right here in the comfort of my own home, a marketing piece that astonished me. And I believe it was carefully targeted to….Boomers.

No, really. A letter announced I had won a Major Award. It had a VERIFICATION NUMBER and everything. Wait for it.

Here’s the first paragraph of the letter.

CONGRATULATIONS! On behalf of the Management at A Certain Cemetery, we are pleased to provide your family verification that you have been awarded one burial space absolutely at NO COST!

Naturally, I though it was a joke. But it was legitimate. I had been selected ‘at random’ for this limited offer….current market value of my burial space is $1,500. ! All I had to do was contact the Awards Secretary (within fifteen days) to confirm my information and I was under no obligation to purchase anything.

Like, I don’t know, a casket to go with my burial space? How about a nice granite marker?

I got the giggles. The kind of giggles that start bubbling up slowly. I reread the Award Verification. I re-reread it. Then I noticed a line at the bottom of the letter, under the signature.

Please accept our sincere apology if this has reached you at a time of illness or loss.

Giggles erupted into screaming, howling belly laughter. WTF? Maybe you should have thought of this a little sooner!

I am not making this up. I couldn’t. But it would have made a great Seinfeld episode, wouldn’t it?

George gets this letter and plunges into angst. It’s an omen. He’s going to die. In fifteen days. Somebody’s after him. A former girlfriend? Jerry says fugeddaboutit.

Kramer decides they should investigate. They sneak into the cemetery at night and explore all the available burial spaces included in the offer. He advises. This one’s too small, this one’s too big. That one under a big tree. It’s too shady and could cause moss to grow on the marker……oh, yes, the marker, available for a limited time only at the introductory price of only….but oh no! The stone on the  occupied space right next door reads………Susan! His deceased fiancée! Doom! It ends in hilarity as Kramer falls into one of the Limited Edition plots and George is too short to pull him out. They call Jerry who is waiting for a table at a Chinese restaurant. Hearty laughter all around.

Sounds collectible! Ya gotta laugh, dontcha? Here’s the letter.

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You Gotta Get One of These!

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I’m usually a hard sell on those miracle gadgets they sell on TV. You know, the Popiel Pocket Fisherman or the Ronco Rhinestone and Stud Setter (create this beautiful denim jacket in just minutes!), the Dump Cake Cookbook (get the Dump Dinner Cookbook FREE,). You know the pitch: but wait! If you call in the next ten minutes, we’ll double your order! Just pay separate shipping!!

But when I saw this little gem, I had to take notice.

It’s called Veggetti and with a few simple twists of the wrist, you can have beautiful julienned vegetables that are delicious in soups, salads, stir fries, and probably more! Hey now!

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“But, Mare,” you probably say. “Can’t I do this with my food processor?”

Sure. But compare the size of the Veggetti to the size of your Cuisinart. Which is easier to clean up?

“Ok, but I have a grater.”

Me, too, and I always have at least one wound from grating too close to the fingers.

Seriously, I have used this to make pasta from zucchini….just fabulous with a melange of other fresh veggies and a swirl of olive oil. Way to use that bumper crop that’s probably happening right now. Cucumber salad is a snap, too, and check out this carrot slaw.

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I didn’t buy it on TV. A local department store has a niche called As Seen On TV and you can get the same thing without the extra schmaltz you probably don’t want anyway. Plus, if the miracle gadget doesn’t work, you just take it back to the store.

Believe me, I am not Martha Stewart. I just want to make something good for me to eat that’s also easy. Summer veggies are in……..I’m taking advantage!

Veggetti comes with a small recipe booklet to stir your creative juices. Who knows where it could lead? And Veggetti sounds better than Dump Dinner.

This evening, carrot slaw and tuna salad. Wow, I feel so healthy.

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Comanche Code Talkers in WW 2

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I was reading an American Legion magazine and saw a story on the death of Chester Nez, last of the Navajo Code Talkers of the Second World War. These native Americans served with the US Marines in the Pacific Theatre, confounding the Japanese by sending coded messages in their native language. The code has never been broken.

When I visited the beaches of Normandy, France, in remembrance of the 70th anniversary of the invasion of Europe by Allied forces, I learned that another tribe of native Americans, the Comanche, also served as code talkers in their language. They were the only code talkers in the European theatre of war; apparently Hitler knew of code talkers in World War 1 and had been trying to learn the Indian languages in case the codes were used against his forces. He didn’t succeed; the languages are usually not written and use symbols instead of words. But the US knew of his efforts and code talkers were not used as extensively in Europe as they were in the Pacific.

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Not aware of this, I was surprised to see these men and their families at the memorial ceremony at Omaha Beach. The descendants of that small band of Comanche code talkers came to pay homage to their ancestors.

The Comanche families held a beautiful ceremony of their own at Utah Beach, where thirteen of their ancestors landed with the 4th Infantry. In full ceremonial dress, using the ancient language, they thanked the spirits and blessed the beach. Tourists from many countries watched, engrossed in the deeply respectful scene.

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The service the code talkers provided was invaluable. Particularly since the US government had tried to eliminate the Native American languages. Charles Chibbity, the recently deceased last of the Comanche talkers, said, “They tried to make us quit talking Indian in school, now they want us to talk Indian.” (www.defense.gov/specials/nativeam02)

But he went on to say, “I felt I was doing something that the military wanted us to do and we did it to the best of our ability, not only to save lives, but to confuse the enemy by talking in the Comanche language. We felt we were doing something that could help win the war.”

Present day officials at Comanche headquarters in Lawton, Oklahoma are trying to preserve the language by teaching it to children.

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This photo shows the original group of Comanche Code Talkers from WW II. The photo is from the Comanche Museum website. The first message from Utah Beach was sent by PFC Larry Saupitty: “Tsaak nunnuwee. Atahtu nunnuwee.” Translated, it says “We made a good landing. We landed in the wrong place.”

But they were in the right place, at the right time, and they demonstrated their loyalty and allegiance to the United States by their service, in spite of past harsh treatment.

On my bucket list was ‘want to meet a code talker.’ They’re all gone now, Navajo, Comanche, Choctaw…. But witnessing the Comanche descendants’ tribute is a privilege I will never forget. Thank you.

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Random Musings

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I hate to mention this, but July is half over. Just saying.

About a week ago, I went to a very interesting program at Penn State’s Brandywine Campus, near Philadelphia. I was an administrator there some time ago and I get invitations to events every now and then.

The program focused on an initiative called Lunar Lion, and it’s the first ever university-led mission to the moon. More than 100 Penn State students from a range of academic disciplines are working together to change the future of space exploration.

The students–aerospace engineering majors, IT majors, communications majors, even law students–are designing and building a lunar lander. The craft will travel to the Moon and transmit high-definition photos and videos back to Earth. They will even tweet from the Moon.

The aim is to show that space missions don’t have to be controlled by governments–universities can help lower the cost and make space exploration more accessible.

Once the lander is on the Moon, it stays there forever. Amazing feat for these talented college kids!

If you donate to the project, you could have your name engraved in gold on the craft, immortalized forever. Other options are available.

There’s a lot more to Lunar Lion, of course. Visit rockethub.com/lunarlionpsu.

Stuff My Grandson Says:
So he’s lounging on the couch, nose in his IPod. I lean over to poke him a little and get his face away from the technology. He grins up at me.

“Close your eyes and say ‘I don’t like strawberry jam’.”

Ok, I close my eyes and give the line. I open my eyes.

He’s still grinning. “I don’t know why I said that. But you did it.”

Snap.

He’s driving with his dad. They pass a field where horses are grazing.
“Oh, look, horses. I wish they were wearing jackets. I like how they look when they wear jackets.”

?

Overheard:
Ryan: I get it. So when he’s jumping, you have to make the pumpkin come off the string and knock off the peanut’s hat. (It’s got to do with the video game Botanicula. That’s all I know about that.)

Mike (my son, commenting to his sister on something I said): Oh, I don’t know. I don’t understand mom. Sometimes I think retirement’s not good for her.

Well, it is. More musings later.

Supermarket + 10-almost-11 year old boy = …………

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R: I don’t like the small carts. Let’s get a big one so I can ride on the front.

I like the small ones, they’re easier to push. And I can’t push the big cart with big fat you on the front anyway.

R: okay, I’ll drive it. I can practice my real driving skills. Not this one. Let’s get a better one inside.

R selects a shopping cart and makes a U-turn, missing his mentor by an inch. Doors open, we are shopping.

First, fruits and veggies.

R: I’m not big on salad. We don’t need more of that. Wait, those tomatoes grow on a vine? Ours don’t grow on vines. Cool. Oh, avocados…..my mom and dad like them but I just can’t like them. It’s the consistency. It’s like too-soft butter. Yech. I don’t think I ever had grapefruit. What’s it like?

Like an orange. Juicy, red inside. We select a grapefruit for testing.

R: oh, I would try that. OOOOOOH…..WATERMELON! I LOVE WATERMELON! Can we get watermelon??

We choose a small watermelon.

R: can this whole thing be mine? It’s not very big. I can eat this whole thing, okay? There’s no milk inside this coconut. Aunt Joan says not to eat plain coconut. She had it in Ghana and it didn’t taste good. I think I would like this mozzarella. [we have moved on to fresh cheeses! olives! Italian style meats!] Can you make that pizza like you did before? That was so good.

We are suddenly in among the sushi, kimchi, and other Asian foods.

R: oh, can I get sushi? I can have it for lunch. They don’t have crab roll. Here’s cucumber roll. Can I get this?

We move on. There follows a critical remark or two about cart driving. Don’t go so fast. Ouch! Stay back a little more from my heels. Wait a minute til I put this in. Don’t crash into the old people…they have to go slower. Watch out turning corners. Pass on the left. THE LEFT! SLOW DOWN!

In the canned meats aisle, we are appropriately repelled by the canned octopus. But the snacks aisle requires some thoughtful research.

R: I like cheese puffs. Not Utz….I like Herr’s. It sounds funny when you say that: it’s not HERS, it’s Herr’s. I’m looking for the round ball ones. I never had them. I want to see how they feel in my mouth. I only had the curly ones. No, not those, that’s not the same thing. Well, I’ll get these.

And so it goes, through yogurt….

R: This is the kind my dad gets with the turquoise lid. Well, I like it but I really want to have the vanilla Greek yogurt because I don’t have that at home. The four-pack is a better buy than the individual ones. Can I get two? I’ll eat them in almost one shot. I’m going through a growth spurt…..I keep eating.

And Beef jerky…

R: oh please? This will just be a snack for me.

And bread…..

R: I really don’t like pumpernickel. It’s too dense. Let’s get this instead.

And finally, checkout, where my efficient helper loads the belt, packs the bags we’ve brought and stashes everything in the cart. I help. Plus, I drive home.

Yes, it takes longer ….. And probably costs a little more! But shopping with this guy is a summertime fun excursion I don’t mind. Look at all I learned!

Tomorrow: the bank and the post office. Who knows what wonders await? It’s all in the eye of the beholder!

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Random Musings

Just had a few days with my 10-almost 11 year old grandson, Ryan. School’s over for summer and it’s time to chill. We stayed up late, slept in, splashed around in the pool, made a strange creature out of clay, went walking…..and one of us played video games. Kid summers. The best.

It’s taking awhile to get reacclimated to things at home following my time in France and England. I felt like I had been accordion pleated after all the walking….a lot of walking…..and then that wonderful seven, almost eight, hour plane ride home in a few square inches of personal space.

I went for a massage the first day back…..oh, wow, wonderful! For ninety glorious minutes, a lovely Asian (I think she is Chinese) woman kneaded, stretched, and unkinked my bones, joints and muscles from head to toe. Started with reflexology on feet and legs, went on to deep pressure, Swedish and hot stones. Bliss! Not a kink left anywhere. Slept like a baby. FYI if you’re in Delaware Co., Pa., try Tai Ji AccuCare in Springfield. No schmaltz, just good solid expertise at a great price. Worth it.

Last night, I went to a big Welcome Back event for World War 2 vets who had been treated to a day in Washington, DC, at the WW II Memorial. They had a great motorcycle escort all the way and three local TV stations covered the party. I don’t think they expected the fuss. They deserve that and more.

I’m having problems trying to post photos. Working on it……

London: It’s Not For Sissies

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I can describe getting around London in two words: Im. Possible.

Got in on the Eurostar on Sunday night. It was after 11pm….traffic wasn’t bad. We got into our flat near Harrods and hit the beds. Phew!
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The view from the front window of our flat. That’s Harrods in the middle.

We woke to city sights and sounds, much different from the quiet Normandy countryside we had left. Not until we went out to explore did we find out how many sights and sounds were out there.
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Each morning, the Queen’s horses came clip clopping down the street, getting their pre-event exercise. The Royal Mews was nearby.

First of all, crossing streets. Impossible. It’s bad enough that traffic is coming from the opposite direction, no matter which way you look. But crosswalks, a supposedly safe place to cross, are not at corners, but staggered in various places along the street.

And the traffic!? Impossible. I have never seen such traffic! Cars, taxis, buses, cycles, just swarms of them, they never stop coming. I must say though that the air was cleaner since last time I was there. They have cleaned up those diesels. But the volume, the sheer numbers of motor vehicles……..
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Yes, that is a gold Ferrari. No, it is not my rental.

That makes surface travel ….. impossible. We did one of those hop on-hop off bus trips, thinking to save time finding the places we wanted to see: Westminster Abbey, The Tower, St. Paul’s, etc. It took HOURS and we got a nice sunburn sitting on top of the bus. Sunburnt in London…..not impossible this trip.
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Actually, it was kind of hot. London hot, not Philadelphia hot, but still. And adding to the heat were the masses of people crowding the city. Gangs of them.

To begin with, Britain was celebrating the DDay landings. People from all over the Isles jammed the city, joined by people from Commonwealth countries and former possessions. Many Middle Easterners and Africans. Asians. Europeans. You could hear a different language every few feet you walked. And you walked ssssslllloooowly.

The Queen was back home, the Royal Standard was flying over Buckingham Palace, and the guard needed changing. Let’s all get over there!

It was Prince Philip’s 93rd birthday. We need a 42 gun salute and let’s close a few streets to traffic near the salute venue, just in case it’s not confusing enough to get around.
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Somewhere in there, Prince Philip is taking his birthday salute in Hyde Park.

But mostly, Saturday, June 14 marks the Queen’s official birthday celebration, a huge event. Another reason for crowds! And more events! And street closings!

At Westminster Abbey, there was noticeable police presence and admission to the Abbey would be ‘delayed’. Well, that was worth the wait because this event included Prince Charles as the senior royal in attendance. I waved; I don’t think he noticed, though.
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Prince Charles is flanked by Abbey potentates. See him there in the middle?

So even though I did manage to see and do most of what I planned, I gave up on a lot of other things simply because getting around was: IMPOSSIBLE!

Now back in France, in Paris. They aren’t celebrating WW II until August, on the anniversary of the Liberation of Paris. Their Bastille Day is not for another month. And it’s nobody’s birthday. Hoo-rah. Much less traffic. Easier to cross the street. Ok, too crowded at the Eiffel Tower, but I’ve been up there several times so……

Now relaxing. A lot to be said for this relaxing thing. Talk to ya later!

D-Day +70 Years

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I’m skipping over yesterday and heading right into today: June 6, 2014.

It’s about 3:25 pm here and we just left the American Cemetery at Colleville. Thing is, we arrived there before 8 this morning.

And we got up at 4:30 so we could leave the hotel at 5:30 so we could get our security clearance credentials so we could get to the ceremony on time.

 

We did, particularly since the show didn’t start til10:45.

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On the way, massive security in place everywhere. Roads closed all across Normandy. Police, soldiers, roadblocks, bomb sniffing dogs, paratroops of our 82nd Airborne Division.

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We were pulled into a checkpoint; passports scanned, bus thoroughly vetted. Funny incident: the dogs were checking the underneath luggage holds…..they run right on in and start sniffing all around. The one checking
our bus started barking. Soldiers came racing over, gendarmes yelling real loud in French. Bus driver and guide have no idea what’s going on. Concerned looks are exchanged. Lots of Frenchness exploding.

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Finally, we stand down from red alert. Turns out the dog got a whiff of our lunches, secured in a cooler in the hold.

Meanwhile, we sat. Sat some more. Then trickled our way to Colleville.

Where we went through more security and sat some more.

It was great to see how proud those old warriors were, waiting for the Presidents of France and the United States. Frail, some of them, sitting in wheelchairs, accompanied by children, grandchildren…even great grandchildren. Wearing their uniforms from back in the day….or maybe part of a uniform. And their medals, all shined up and in rows across their chests.
So hard to imagine them as cocky young guys barely in their twenties…..many younger…..who took on such an enormous task.

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The local people of France were there, too, to greet them and to offer sincere gratitude for the privilege to be born in a free country.

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In the crowd were some Comanche Code Talkers. What an honor to see them. Their contribution to the war was incredible. Only the USA has people who can use their unwritten native language to confound the enemy. (See my later post on the Comanche Code Talkers.)

I don’t recall much about the speeches from the presidents. President Hollande spoke with much passion; President Obama spoke longer but it wasn’t a bad speech. Just not memorable.

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The Presidents placed this wreath, with assistance from the veterans.

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French Marines helping with crowd control.

Eventually, the event was over and we were cleared to leave the cemetery. Unfortunately, this is where chaos erupted.

Total. Chaos.

Considering how smooth the logistics went on getting TO the ceremony, getting FROM the ceremony was just horrendous. No one knew what to do. Who should go where. To get on which bus. That would, or might, be going where you wanted to go. The gendarmes had made all the buses clear out to a holding area five kilometers away. But letting them return over those secured roads…well, that’s gonna take some time.

I attended the 50th Anniversary of D-Day Ceremonies in 1994, with my dad, my son and my sister. Things then were even worse, actually, so while I wasn’t particularly surprised, I did think that things might have been ironed out a little better after twenty years.

But no.

We had all been separated at the ceremony, so there were people from our tour wandering around the parking lots searching for familiar faces. Any faces. We were really, really hungry…it was past noon and we’d been on the road since O Dark Hundred that morning. We wanted those lunches that had been ok’ed by the sniffing dog. Tempers frayed, faces broiled in the sun, we were worried about our older companions. The guide contacted the driver but the gendarmes wouldn’t let the bus through back to the cemetery.

We sat. We shared water and some kind of Army rations ( don’t do this) with guys from the 82nd. Who also were stuck. I am very patient particularly when there’s nothing else to be done. But we were all just so tired….

We are still not sure how we managed it, but at long LONG last, the driver called and said, “J’arrive!” I am here!

So as I said, we started the trudge back to our hotel almost three and a half hours after the presidents’ departure let us free. Well, it sure was a memorable experience.

Back at the hotel, everyone who was able showed up at the bar for a replay. More chaos, but much more congenial!

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A contingent of Brits were staying, including the Command Sergeant Major of the Irish Rangers. He was telling us how he’d been chatting with Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall while having a break in the British events at Arromanches. I’m pretty sure that’s what he was saying. He had a really, really thick accent….I did a lot of smiling and nodding while he talked.

I think we may have become engaged at one point. Not sure.

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The Boys From Philly (oh, I haven’t mentioned them yet? Much more about them coming soon!) held court, and wound up inviting the SGM to the Irish Week celebrations in North Wildwood, New Jersey. But he can’t come in that British uniform. This will be SOME clambake. Those of you who are in the vicinity should go!

I don’t know when the festivities broke up. I just know I wasn’t there because I went to bed and slept the sleep of the innocent. The exhausted innocent.

More soon!