Little Girls

Devotion, Desire and Delight dancing in the street.


They are not quite three and newly seven.
They are sweet and warm and breathy in their personas and in their play.


The dress up box is purple plastic with a domed top like the treasure chest that it is on this summer day.
The older one is a "Fashionista". She has an innate sense of style. She likes flashy, fun combinations of bright colors and mixed textures accessorized with long cotton gloves of white or purple.
She is happy to show the wee one how this game is played.

They announce each new creation, dancing on the street that is the hundred year old hardwood hall floor of gramma bevy's house.
They are bedecked in plastic heels and fuzzy, furry boas.
They drape themselves in gauzy scarves and pink tiaras.
They dazzle us with oranges and reds, golds and deep sea blues of every fabric twisted and twirled about their lithe little bodies.
And then they prance about in tutus of multi-colored crinoline adorned with sparkly see-through gems dancing like fairies in a forest glen.

These sweet little girls are a delight. The elders in the room are devoted to them and desire only that they know that they are beautiful and they are loved.

Parades

The parade began before I opened my eyes. I could choose to sleep in; it was hot and I was tired.
I could rise and finish writing final comments - it was time.
I could get up and out and mow the dry, cracked, brown grass that was ankle (and in some places mid calf)deep.
or......
I could drive north and see Aunt Kitty at my mother's house.
The parade of choices marched before me. So I asked myself, "at day's end what would I be most glad that I had chosen?"
I got out of bed, tended the dogs and headed north stopping only to get fresh baked cinnamon rolls from the local bakery.

There were three bespectacled, graying elders just having breakfast when I arrived. They were delighted, but not really surprised, to see me.
They were truly delighted and totally surprised that I carried goodies in the white paper bag I carried.

The parade of choices did not end with my arrival. With only an hour to share what would we talk about? Her life? Mine? The weather?
I picked me, the most selfish and the most selfless choice in the line up. I had begun a writing course since I had last seen Aunt Kitty, one that I wanted to tell her all about. Called Wearing the WORD, it is an amazing way to reflect on Bible passages, and end each day with a parade of words dancing on the computer screen to be sent off to a moderator - me.

The hour and more spent, the band played on. Aunt Kitty had a tradition of going down to the Stuyvesant Falls Bridge on her way out of town every year.
I was running late but the appeal of parading across that bridge, two old ladies, one alot older than I am, won the lottery of time allotment.
We both headed out and met at the bottom of the hill.
And parade is just what we did! Hand in hand we walked, arms swinging, laughing out loud as we took in the sights of the Falls, the rocks below and the sky above.
Oh what a treat!

A prayer warrior beside me I thought to myself, "Please God, in the parade of choices that marches before me each day, help me always choose this well. Amen."

How hot is TOO hot?

Stars and Stripes

There is a flag flying proudly on my front porch today.
It is a flag that once flew over a military post where my son was stationed.
He is in the Navy.

There is another flag hanging on my son's wall, though he is not there to look at it. That one was handed to my mother at my father's funeral. My father served in the Tenth Mountain Division of the Army in World War II.


I have attended many funerals - too many - and they are filled with such a mix of emotions. Great sadness in spite of the relief of suffering. Near hysteria at the loss of one too young or whose life is taken violently or tragically. Disbelief at the incredulity of a suicide. It is so hard to stand in the presence of such deep, true emotion ....

But, have you ever stood at a graveside when a flag is handed to a loved one?
I have and what I remember is the heart swelling ache of pride. The heart swelling rush of gratitude to that person who sacrificed his or her comfort, safety and family time for ME.

That is how it feels when I watch a flag go from white gloved hands to the trembling hands of the person receiving it. This person that we are preparing to say goodbye to forever, served our country for ME. And I am the one that benefits from that sacrifice. I am the one that gets to walk away from the cemetery and live a life of freedom, a life pursuing joy ( my greatest happiness) because of this person who we are about to lower into the ground.

And I am always humbled as I watch the Stars and Stripes change hands.

Happy Birthday America, yes. But more than that, thank you to each and every man and woman who continues to serve under the Red, White and Blue. Thank you for your sacrifice for ME. May I live a life that is deserving of it.

Be safe today, come home soon. And for those who served before and are gone, rest in peace.