Symbolicism

I have been giving a great deal of thought to the current brouhaha over the Confederate flag flying at the South Carolina capitol. That is mostly because I have had a hard time making up my mind how I feel about it. I now have a decision.

I think that displaying the Confederate flag in, on, or around any governmental property is wrong. By "any," I mean city, township, county, state, and federal.

However, I do not think it is wrong for individual private citizens to have and display Confederate flags or other items depicting the Confederate flag on, in, or around their personal property.

Americans do and should remember and celebrate the dedication and sacrifice exhibited by the soldiers who fought so bravely in our great Civil War, whichever side their ancestors were on. So if folks in the South want to fly the Stars and Bars in remembrance of their defeat, let them. After all, this is America. (See Amendment 1 to the Constitution).

What makes the Confederate flag objectionable, of course, is its association with racism, and we will not be able to ignore that association until racism in America disappears.

Good luck to us on that one.

Allow me, s'il vous plait.

A co-worker told me this story.  I wish I had been there.

A businessman took four clients, including my colleague, out for dinner at a very fancy and expensive French restaurant. He asked his guests what they would like to have and then took it upon himself to order for all of them in French. He did it all -- appetizers, wine, entrees, side dishes -- struggling mightily at times to dredge up vocabulary and syntax buried deep in the memory of his high school French. It was a slow and tedious process.

The whole time he spoke, the waiter stood silently, his pen poised over his order pad, but he wasn't writing anything down.

When at last the ordeal was over, the guy closed his menu with an air of finality and permitted himself a small triumphant smile.

Then, very politely, the waiter said, "I'm sorry, sir. All the French-speaking waiters have gone home."

Bury My Heart at Wounded Pride

Our errand-running this afternoon led us down a nearby road that passes a chunk of land that calls itself a memorial garden and which I call a cemetery. It's one of those with no above-ground tombstones, just plaques that lie flush to the ground. It is tucked snugly between a golf course and the airport.

According to their web site, in addition to "traditional in-ground burials," they also offer cremation, lawn crypts, a mausoleum, and a niche columbarium. (That's the official name of the structure with the little cubby-holes that hold the urns of cremated remains. My grandmother's ashes are in one of those at Bohemian National Cemetery in Chicago.)

What is really fascinating about the place is the large banner waving in the breeze at the corner of the property announcing "50% SAVINGS ON SELECTED GARDENS." Probably the ones closest to the airport.

We are living longer, but I don't think that it's too few deaths that is causing the garden in memoriam to throw a half-off sale. More of us are evidently opting for the less expensive cremation and ash-scattering.

Although -- I did click the button that said "This Week's Burials," and it returned a screen that announced there were none this week.  Hmm.

And while I'm on the subject, and since I may never have an opportunity to mention this again, I want those who are not already aware of it to know that in Kalamazoo, Michigan, there is a cemetery called Mount Ever Rest.  I am not kidding.