My Grammy's Poem: A true story

Armistice - And Irony
I can see them yet, as they marched away,
So debonair, so brave, so gay!
I can see them yet, as they turned to wave,
The smiles erased from their faces grave.
And as I stood there, turned to stone,
The sun's last glint from their rifles shone.

I can still see my Mother, with face so white
And my Father, standing so still,
Trying to think that all was right,
Trying to feel like it was God's will.
Yes, we all tried to be as brave as they,
As my husband and brother marched away.

After many a weary month and long
Came the news, more cheering than the happiest song.
The whistles were blowing, the bells were ringing.
Everywhere people were shouting and singing.
"The War is over at last" cried they,
And the sad old World became hysteric'ly gay.
We looked at each other through tears of joy
And Mother murmered softly, "My boy, my boy!".

Happy plans for their return we made.
I tremble even now, as these mem'ries fade.
"Killed in action", the telegram bore.
"Killed in action"; weary brain repeated o'er and o'er.
Yes, the bells were ringing,
They should have tolled!
The sound of bells will turn me faint and cold
Forevermore.
My brother had died the day before.

Veteran's Day on the Chemung River.

No more to say.

Saw an editorial today that spoke the last word on Michael Jackson.
My generation saw many of our idols destroyed by drugs throughout the last forty years.  Drugs, drugs, drugs:  death, death, death.  Heartache and heart break.

I thought MJ turned from an almost obnoxious child star into a handsome, suave, intelligent performer.  He completely enthralled me with "Billie Jean."  A fan for life, his and mine both.

The sorry, sad spiral began at that point:  from cute to crazy, from sexy to scary.

It had to end in such a dismal, wretched waste.  Absolutely had to.  It just took Michael a very long time to self-destruct.

The guilty of negligent man-slaughter was more collateral damage: a sick side show with a cautionary moral exclamation point. 

The Main Event is still lost forever.

Leonard Pitts nailed it in the Miami Herald.

There is no more to say.

Eldridge park and river cat

So many adjustments to the camera for this strangely green November!  The late foliage allows small animals to forage on the river bank, almost unseen. 

Almost.

Eldridge Park is an odd mixture of greens and blues and reds.  Very unusual at this time of year.

Mind you, it is still near freezing, and neither the HuggaMutt nor I can stay out as long as we like.  This weekend my poor little buddy is showing her age, and sleeps in late in the morning.  She also naps out very early in the evening.

pb

Little Pond