I see the flag, it flies on high
Its standards reaching for the sky
The wind whips round its colors bright
Tis true it is an awesome sight.
There is a chill runs down my spine
Convincing me that we’ll be fine
Quite sure each time I fall asleep
I have these promises to keep.
And if I die before I wake
There is a vow you must not break
Command my ashes to be spread
Along the shore aft I am dead !
Patriotism is never out of style for me
This is my life, my nature, my identity !
There is one flag that I’ve seen wave
That signals all here come the brave
This standard that most recognise
Bring tears of joy to many eyes.
The memories of where it’s raised
When victories have garnered praise
The sight of which will touch the heart
That’s how it’s been right from the start.
In spite of tyranny’s great might
This emblem promises a fight
For freedom’s sake and mankind’s good
Our nation and our flag have stood !
EXCUSE ME, they’re playing our song ! Do you remember the words ? “God bless America land that I love”. A kind of poetry, words of songs that began with men like George M. Cohan and women like Kate Smith. Words we’ve disregarded for years in lieu of MTA, Walkman, Beatles, Michael Jackson and even Lionel Ritchie. The problem has been that we haven’t made room for both, like forgetting how great a cold beer is after acquiring a taste for Stoli on the rocks! “She’s the emblem of the land I love, the home of the free and the brave,”. It used to be, these songs filled many a hall with resounding applause and many a heart with astounding pride. What “the world needs now ” is a healthy dose of plain old fashioned patriotism. Let’s see a show of hands and maybe a show of flags. Take time out to thank someone for doing their job well, a nurse, teacher, postman, waiter, bus driver, a child. Maybe they’ll thank us in return by doing even better ! Today we stand at the crossroads and must choose between old habits or a rejuvenated search for national identity. Look around, we grouse too much, blame someone else, ask others to do our job not realizing that we are each an integral part of the whole. A broken toe causes a body to limp, throw away the crutches, stand up tall and stop playing cripple! Excuse me while I salute the flag! Sincerely, Claire B.
In early 1943, the preplanning and superior amounts of arms and power of the enemy forces were taking the larger toll of the Allied resources and men. Civilians at home had to step up to increased responsibilities. Farmers left the cornfields to join the battlefields and I became one of the teens who chose to spend that summer working the land for room and board in the place of a father and son who went to serve their country in the USMC. Some experience, a dairy farm upstate New York raising hay, melons, milking cows by hand, fighting mange with sulphur and petroleum ( ugh ). Learning to ride a workhorse, clean stalls, raise chickens, collect eggs, bale hay, 1940’s style ! You know, cows got milked twice a day. Another “ugh” was artificial insemination ! I have always been a quick learner, thankfully. That summer without the beach, popcorn or the boardwalk, reminded me of the Girl Scout promise I had made to do my duty to God and my country, to help one another and to be prepared ! What wonderful values youngsters learned in the scouting movement, not what you can do for me, but as JFK said, “what I can do for my country”. Why have we forgotten so much, why does everything seem upside- down ? When did we get sidetracked by ME, ME, ME ? The age of Aquarius ? This morning I read Chapter 3 of 2nd Timothy and found one answer, do you think it’s the correct one ? Do you believe that America has lost her way ? I hope not.
Sincerely,
Claire B.
What do you know about the classic epic poem “Evangeline”? Basic details, but not the “heartless” truths behind its creation by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow of “Hiawatha” fame? “Evangeline” is not a simple romantic tale of love gone awry, but the saga of an ethnic cleansing tragedy that actually occured 1745-1755 on our continent and impacted our nation in ways untold ! Remember the original colonizers “due north” of us were French fur traders, explorers, settlers with Samuel de Champlain at the helm in 1603. “Hello”, Lake Champlain? Let’s tax your knowledge of history once again, think French and Indian War, where that boy ‘who cut down the cherry tree” earned his stripes and became a HERO! Moving on, the French had settled Nova Scotia, called Acadia,New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island ( the Maritimes ) and Quebec 150 years prior to the Brits appearing on that scene ! The year 1755, the French lost, the Acadians were neutral , not good enough ! Next “The Great Expulsion” relocating the Acadians after separating men from women and children . Load the men onto English man’o’wars and dump them in the swamps of French Louisiana prior to the Revolutionary War and the “Purchase” by Jefferson. Transport the rest to ports along the lower Atlantic coast from Maine to Vineyard’s Harbor ( Cape Cod ) to prevent increasing numbers above the possibly remaining 20,000. However, without the Acadians who “morphed” into Cajuns, we could have lost the Battle of New Orleans, January 8, 1815 in the War of 1812 along with Andrew Jackson’s eventual presidential win. I failed to cite “Mardi Gras” et al, their gift to us!
This delicate jewel that reigns across the sea
Still clouded by the mist and slightly faded shade
Rules with repute amid fame of greater glory
While the events of years her impotence betrayed.
Basking in the shadow of one bright diadem
Views stolen from another end of the rainbow
Lending character to this aged waning gem
That here exists with honor and respect in tow.
Noble crescent from whence came seeds of our beginnings
Once hidden by the tiresome toss and chance of time
In retrospect with pride that contemplation brings
See truth and in that single act, dower confine.
Swiftly changing moody skies, sulking now, and gray,
Rimmed about with verdant edges blazing away,
Clamoring vines, that bloom aloud in noisy crowds,
Crowning all of this are hills of black, piercing clouds,
A patchwork quilt against the backdrop of cold sky
Where field duck, geese and gull, propitiously, do fly.
Winding rivers that shine like a pasteboard display
Abundant with dwellings that seem modeled of clay,
Rigid stanchions of forest commanding the scene
Of woodlands in limbo, sound asleep and serene,
Her bonnie green cramming every top of each mount
With visions of heraldry the mind cannot count,
Fields polka-dotted with sheep and black angus steer,
And there, in the distance, some tall tower appears,
Like a lone sentinel in its halo of white,
To stand, guarding late exit of day into night.
Castles ringed with her magic and filled with her ghosts,
Past miles of rock-studded farms, west on to the coast,
From Dundee to Carstairs, and down to Scot’s Glen,
Making straight for the sea, by the way of Girvan,
A sight full of splendor and eternally green,
Like a shimmering torch, and a gem for her queen.
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
| 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
| 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
| 29 | 30 | 31 | ||||
Claire V. Bogdanos 