From 1914 to 1918, Flanders Fields was a major battle theatre on the Western Front during the First World War. A million soldiers from more than 50 different countries were wounded, missing or killed in action here. visitflanders.com
The poem, ‘In Flanders Fields’, by John McCrae, went on to inspire the use of the poppy, which once grew on the battlefields of Flanders Fields, to become an enduring symbol of remembrance across the world.
HAVE A BLESSED MEMORIAL DAY 2024
I can’t remember the last time I actually jumped.
Can you? 
And at 72, why would I jump?
Maybe a teeny, tiny “jump” when HR sneaks up behind and tickles me. But that hardly qualifies as a legitimate jump, does it?
Grandson Gabriel participated in a basketball tournament up in Atlanta this weekend.
He’s a great jumper.
Perhaps I could learn a lesson or two from G.
I set forth an intention to look for ways to jump this coming week.
Join me?
“Bridge”
“The Bay Bridge crosses the Chesapeake Bay along US 50/301. Its dual spans provide a direct connection between recreational and ocean regions on Maryland’s Eastern Shore and the metropolitan areas of Baltimore, Annapolis and Washington, D.C. At four miles, the spans are among the world’s longest and most scenic over-water structures.” Bridges.com
A day after the horrific tragedy of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in the Baltimore Harbor, Robert and I had to travel across the nearby 4.5 mile Annapolis Bay Bridge to visit his grandmother on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. (Incredibly, HR’s still young enough to have a living grandmother!)
The weather was terrible. Dark, cold and very rainy as we crossed the bridge.
I was a nervous wreck. I tried not to, but all I could think about was what had happened yesterday.
Thankfully, we made it across. But we were most sadly aware that not everyone made it across the Key Bridge.
My daily snapshot of Robert’s and my 2023 trip to get away from Savannah’s St. Patrick’s Day parade and celebrations.
We started off the day in the cabin with beyond-delicious molten center brownies we had gotten in Savannah at our new favorite bakery, Sweet Patricias.
Bloated, we headed about an hour away to my small hometown of Ball Ground and the town cemetery where my parents are buried.
For as long as I can remember, having been taught by my folks, I have enjoyed “decorating the graves” of family members. Each changing season and holiday would find us heading to the various cemeteries and graveyards, spending time reminiscing and laughing at wonderful memories.
After a great lunch at a local meat and three, Robert and I spent a little while at Ball Ground’s small but beautiful botanical garden.
Here’s a bench in honor of my dad.
On the way back to our state park cabin, we stopped by the Georgia National Cemetery. I guess today we were thinking about those who have gone before us.
We left in great admiration and respect for our military service men and women.
Back at Red Top Mountain, HR grilled hotdogs, then we rested by the fire.
May you have a restful evening ahead.
May this incredible former President have a transition of peace and ease.
I’m having a bit of trouble being happy today, after the Colorado Springs gay club massacre.
But today we were walking through Hobby Lobby, looking for Thanksgiving placemats for our family gathering, and I came across this.
And it made me smile. I needed to smile.
And HR seems to think the sentiment rings true.
P.S. But aren’t gay clubs supposed to be safe havens? Robert and I have visited them in New York City, Washington DC, Atlanta, Baltimore (HR’s hometown), New Orleans, etc. etc. etc.
But lately, whenever we go into a gay establishment, I look for the exits, just in case.
And even more sadly, when I go to our gay friendly church here in Savannah, I remind myself where the exits are, just in case.
It really shouldn’t be this way.
Did you see this CRAZY story in the news?
When I first read it, I laughed out loud. And thought about my old sandals. Here they are. I’ll sell them to you for a mere $500. A DEAL!
But then when I thought about it a bit more, the humor sort of leaked and lessened. 200 grand! Think how many homeless meals (for just one example) that amount could provide.
P.S. …
Hmm.
One of the unexpected joys of living in Savannah’s Historic District, just a couple of blocks from the mighty Savannah River, has been regularly seeing (and hearing) the massive cargo and container ships making their way into our busy port.
The Port of Savannah, the nation’s third largest seaport, is special because the ships leave the Atlantic Ocean, navigate their way inland about 15 miles to downtown Savannah, and pass directly in front of our busiest tourist strip on River Street …
It’s always fun to be on a walk along the river when a huge ship comes into view and watch the shell-shocked tourists gaping at the ships’ sizes.
Here’s a short video from last year when the largest container ship EVER came to Savannah.
And here are a few random shots of ships Robert and I have enjoyed seeing as we walked along the river.
Just the other night …
Others …
But, perhaps somewhat weirdly, the greatest Ship Joy of all to me is SOUND.
Robert and I will be in bed (most commonly with HR peacefully asleep and me slowly, slowly heading in that direction). But all of a sudden I will hear it. And perk up. Sometimes even sit up.
From a few blocks away, down on the river. The night ships. The sonorous, plaintive, somehow both exuberant and unexplainably sad horn, sounding from the ship, finally, finally making its way, exhausted, from who knows where into our little city … and past the sleepy little dwelling of Neal and HR.
Listen …
And somehow, that sound, time and time again, makes me realize that we can get from Where We Are … to Where We Need to Be. To a port of rest, to a place of quiet. To a place of, at least temporarily, no more movement.
And I sleep.
I loved this small excerpt of a lovely Essene meditation posted by Kelly Curtis on the beautifully inspirational blog, Kelly’s Quest.
“Softness fills my days
In this season of autumn light.
Gentle joy of life returning
To know its roots again.”
As we perhaps slow down a bit this autumn, may we mindfully embrace the quiet, deep and abiding joyful health of our roots.
NealEnJoy 