Back on my mind...

Hey yous guys.  What's the good word for you this Memorial Day weekend?  How about FREEDOM! 

I'm just about done with a book on the battle of the Atlantic during the Second World War.  Words like U-boat, sailor, and rationing, and imagery of abstract qualities like selflessness, swagger, and commitment abound throughout the pages. The book focuses on the lifeline that supplied the European Theater of the war: the convoy routes from the US to Britain and beyond.  Many unsung heroes who never made the front page of Time and who never made it to the other side of the pond.  These sailors and merchantmen were just a few of the countless faces and souls that were integrated into the noble undertaking of mammoth proportions that preserved the freedom that we get to enjoy every single day here and now.  I read recently about a veteran who had to go to court to be able to fly the Stars and Stripes outside his apartment.  I don't know the details.  Maybe the flag location was obstructing a fire lane.  I don't know.  But this isn't the first time a story like this circulated around the news wires.  I also recently read a few articles about a war memorial, somewhere in New Mexico, I believe, where a cross was erected years ago as a sign of remembrance for the local soldiers who lost their lives in battle...I think the cross was stolen.  A replacement was erected, but later had to be covered because the cross was offensive and crossed that church and state line we hear about all the time. I'd like to know what church they're talking about.  As far as I know, some 30,000+ churches claim the cross as a religious symbol.  I won't go on listing all the religious symbols such as elephants, moons, and yin-yangs that should be outlawed from public display based on the separation of church and state "logic".  Confusing.  The saddest thing about the case in New Mexico is that the beloved dead are the ones that are truly mocked in this case.  A whole 'nother issue perhaps the same church and state minority would like me to warm up to; namely, "forget about the dead".  Shoot, the lines are already being/have been drawn to forget about the living!  Pass the elderly or "undesirables" to the side, forget about them...so with that attitude, why should I even consider remembering the departed?  It's ironic that the blood shed by those fallen men and women fortified the foundations that the so-called civil liberty contingent set their pedestals on...For what it's worth, to the men and women that did so much for me and preserved the opportunity for me to do what is right...I solemnly thank you and pray for you this holiday weekend and beyond.

I spent a good chunk of time in bed yesterday thinking about summer time as a little kid.  Cousin Joey shot me an email earlier this week and mentioned that the upper peninsula of Michigan was a place he'd like to visit some day. The UP of Michigan may very well be my favorite place in the world.  About this time of year some 20 years a go or so, I'd be getting amped up about school letting out in a week or two.  Little league would just about be in full swing.  More and more lightening bugs would be coming out in the evenings.  And the quiet hum of the air conditioner would probably be the last sound I'd hear as I drifted off to sleep on a warm and humid night...many times with Michigan on my mind.  The yearly trip to Michigan always took place in the summer.  Sometimes in early June, a few times over the 4th of July, other trips a few weeks later.  Whenever it was, I looked forward to it and couldn't wait to go.  Looking back on it now, it may have been the reality that, even though I was just a little kid, I got to be a part of an adult experience: waking up early, trolling for hours on end, peeing over the side of the boat without falling in...these were all the things Dad did...these were the things that Bob Clark and Uncle Mike did.  The UP rarely if ever crosses my mind without Bob and Uncle Mike somewhere in the memory. In fact, the place and the people are inseparable in my mind.  Every year leading up to the week-long get-a-way, it seemed that Uncle Mike had to make a point to say that he would not make it that year.  "Nah, not going in July. Too late to catch the bluegill on the beds" was a common reason...and each year I'd get upset, plead with him to come at the same time we were going, or try to see if we could go when he'd be there.  But just about every year, a few hours after we'd get to the cabin, the White Scottsdale Custom Deluxe would pull into view much to my delight. Or, the little camper would come into view on the left-hand side of the descending dirt road that lead to Peavy...what a wonderful sight!  The Clarks were always in the UP when we made our trip...fun was always a given fishing on their pier over the Paint River, burning gallons of gas riding the tractor around, or tip-toeing around the woods and quiet side roads looking for deer. The vacation was partly the place but largely the people. 

Uncle Mike was probably the single most influential person in my first 20 years.  Uncle Mike was blunt and stubborn and I don't think I ever remember hugging him or him hugging me, let alone telling him that I loved him or him telling me (for which I regret)...but I looked to him with a reverence and love that I can still feel today.  His longevity and consistency at doing what he loved, fishing and hunting, were for me as a kid everything that I thought was awesome.  The coolest person I knew when I was 12 was my 70 year-old great uncle.  The place I wanted to be more than anywhere else on a Friday night in mid-October in 1993 was in Uncle Mike's trailer, thumbing through the same worn out deer hunting magazines and listening how to set up a tree stand in the dark or about the time when the bears splashed across the brook he was wading in with a fish on the line. Uncle Mike was a story teller.  He'd captivate me with stories ranging from beagles chasing rabbits to homemade golf clubs made from choke cheery tree shoots to even mushroom picking. Those stories and memories will be with me until hopefully one day, I get to meet up with Uncle Mike again.  I suppose I share this sentiment for two reasons.  One because being the end of May, my mind tends to automatically wander to the "what used to be's" of summer time fun and I enjoyed placing myself in the size 5 Converse shoes again.  Two because Uncle Mike was a veteran of the Second World War and as part of the Memorial Day weekend, it seemed fitting.  He was a cook.  He served in the Pacific theater.  I know he spent time in the Philippines, but aside from one very short episode when he explained briefly how his unit got ambushed, I do not know anything about his service. Hopefully there's a little bit of Uncle Mike in me today.

Changing sentimental gears, I head to a footy game tomorrow...err...today.  My buddy Alfonso from work and I are heading to the Subiaco Oval to watch the home team Freemantle Dockers do battle with the North Melbourne Kangaroos in live footy action.  Looking forward to the experience.  The Dockers are kicking some footy arse this season, so hopefully we don't jinx their luck.  A full report to follow next time.

Seeing that it's now, oh, almost 1am Perth time, it's time to call it a night and pedal my sleepy butt way back to the apartment.  Have a great weekend whether you're sailing on a lake, swimming in the pool, or just grilling out burgers in the back yard.  Be safe, have fun and God bless.

Scotty