Remembering the Fallen

There was a bit of excitement yesterday at church: We stood for the closing song (How Great Thou Art) and Richard’s pants fell down. He sat down immediately and recovered well. He managed to pull them back up and tighten the belt that was supposed to hold them up. I managed not to laugh out loud.We got through the song without further incidence.

On a more somber note…

A few weeks ago I finished reading John Grisham’s book The Reckoning.

Grisham again demonstrates his skill as master storyteller. The section of the book devoted to the experiences of the American and Filipino soldiers fighting in the Philippines describes in horrific detail the brutality they suffered at the hands of the Japanese on the Bataan death march and as prisoners of war. It is graphic and disturbing and very intense.

Well, today we honor those who died serving our country. All of the men in my extended family who served in the military returned home, except one. His name was Lester, and he was my mother’s cousin. I do not remember my mother ever mentioning him in discussions of her extended family. She occasionally mentioned her Uncles Albert and Ernest and her Aunt Myrtle, who were the siblings of her mother, but I never remember her talking about Lester or his brother Lyle, although I suppose she must have. I never saw a photograph of my mother and her cousins.

I knew nothing about Lester – or rather, perhaps, remembered nothing about him – until 2 years ago, when I was very surprised by a call from the Casualty and Mortuary Affairs Operations Division of the Army.

From them I learned that Lester was first reported missing in action and then became a prisoner of the Japanese. He died in 1942 of diphtheria in the Cabanatuan POW Camp in the Philippines.  The Army had recovered his remains in the Philippines and returned him to his father, in Montana, in 1949.

I guess the Army had made the connection from my mother to Lester's family--Myrtle was his mother--and then tracked me down through my mother’s obituary and asked me to send a DNA sample to the Central Identification Laboratory. From the documents they sent me, it looked to me like they knew exactly who they had dug up and sent back to the United States, but I guess they wanted to compare my DNA with Lester’s to make sure they had correctly identified the remains as being Lester’s.

It must have been such a time of sorrow for that family. I have no way of honoring his memory by decorating a grave, but I can acknowledge that he gave the ultimate sacrifice in service of our country.

A Convenient Breakdown

“How do you know if you've got a good mechanic? By the size of his boat.” 

Tom Magliozzi (Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers)

We took the car I drive to Randy, our mechanic (and we dread the day he decides to retire), for the annual inspection so we can get it licensed and for some routine maintenance – oil change, filter, windshield wipers, check the radiator, check the battery. The usual.

And about 90 minutes later, Randy calls my husband and “needs to talk.” He had put the car up on the lift so he could check the brakes for the inspection, but when he tried to drive the car off the lift, it wouldn’t start. The starter was kaput. Just like that.

So, Randy put in a new starter (which cost some $$$) and a new battery, and the car was repaired and were not otherwise inconvenienced.

Having a car quit working while one is out and about is very stressful, even when one is prepared: each car we drive has a good jack and a good spare tire, we have roadside assistance, we have mobile phones (although my ability to operative my is problematic) to call for help. And we didn’t need them. At least this time.

What a good place for the breakdown to occur.

I don't know if Randy has a boat, but I wouldn't begrudge him one.

It goes w-o-o-s-h

We are doing an interesting series on Sunday School on “half-truths”— things people think the Bible says but that aren’t actually in the Bible.

The half-truth we reviewed last week was “God helps those who help themselves.”

“Now wait a minute, here” you might be thinking. And rightly so. There is a definite work ethic in the Bible. Just read through Proverbs and you get that message loud and clear. But most of the time people use the phrase to avoid helping people who can’t help themselves.

Well, I am not going to reteach the lesson here, but I felt like God did help me recently because I am willing to help people who cannot help themselves when I can, and I am also willing to put forth some effort to “help myself” if the opportunity occurs.

I did have an opportunity to work temporarily on a journal I used to work on to earn some extra money, for which I am very thankful. 

Since January, I have lost two of the journals I had been working on because one was moved to a company that I can’t work for at the moment and the other one went to a company that I refuse to work for (hint: I was getting $4.50 per unit and they were offering $2.25 per unit).

In place of those two, I was offered a new journal, so I have a little less work, which has been kind of nice actually, because I have had a little more free time.

But when I was offered this temporary work, I took it, and so no, I did not wander off into the sunset but was working 40 hours a week for about the last 3 weeks.

A lot of creative energy goes into the editing, and so I was not in the mood to do any creative writing for the blog. I will most certainly flounder again trying to keep the blog going (and I'll probably have humdinger of an excuse when that happens), but I am going to try to make an effort not to let so much time pass.

All of this has nothing to do with “w-o-o-s-h-i-n-g.”

I make bread fairly often. In the past, I mixed the sugar or honey with the warm water, added the yeast, gave it a whisk and then went off to do something else for about 15 minutes before coming back to see if the yeast had decided to wake up and reproduce itself.

One of the last times I made bread, I happened to be in the kitchen and happened to glance at the surface of the water just as the yeast woke up. Watching it multiply and spread through the water was just amazing.

I made bread today.

And I most definitely stayed right there and watched to see it happen. I tried to record it “wooshing” on my camera, but I am not set up to make a good recording in those circumstances -- it would have made you "seasick," so I’ll have to work on it.