Remembering those who fell

Every year that I was a Brownie or Girl Scout, my troop marched in our local Memorial Day parade. What I remember about it is that it began in the center of our small town and wound its way to two cemeteries, at both of which there were speeches and prayers and three-volley salutes among graves festooned with flowers and flags and surrounded by old men wearing Garrison caps emblazoned with service ribbons. Afterwards there was always a hot-dog-and-potato-salad picnic in our backyard.

When I was older and able to understand the importance and solemnity of the day, I agreed with those who argued against the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1968, pointing out that the purpose of the Memorial Day holiday was to honor our war dead, not to give people three-day weekends.

The numerous ancestors and relatives in my family tree who fought for America in various wars all survived their service, except for my father's brother, Irvin Knez. His regiment participated in the invasion of North Africa in November, 1942. His remains were never recovered; his name appears on a tablet at the North Africa American Cemetery in Carthage, Tunisia, among those missing.

I never met my Uncle Irvin, but I am proud to be able to remember him today as well as all the other men and women I never met who have given their lives for our freedom.

Knedlíky a zelí

We spent the last night of our recent vacation in Vermillion, Ohio, a pretty little town on Lake Erie with many marinas and a gazillion boats.

We wanted our last meal on the road to be special, and we found a restaurant called Old Prague which boasted of serving authentic Czechoslovakian cuisine.  That piqued my Bohemian interest, so we decided to Czech it out.  (Sorry.  I couldn't help it.)

It turned out to be a lovely meal, and very Czech: an appetizer of potato pancakes with sauerkraut, then pork roast for my wife and Wiener Schnitzel for me, all served with bread dumplings and sauerkraut.

Back out in the parking lot, we were about to take pictures of each other when a couple came by and the woman volunteered to take a picture of us together, an offer we gratefully accepted.

It reminded me of a similar experience we had in California many years ago when we visited the Inglenook Vineyard in Napa Valley. We were taking photos of each other in front of the place when I saw a man approaching, and I thought we might ask him to take our picture together. Then we noticed he only had one arm, so we nixed the idea. As he came closer, he called out, "Would you like me to take your picture?" Well, sure. I handed him the camera, pointed out which button to push, and he had no troubling at all handling it with his one hand. Just goes to show you.

Home Again

My father always said -- and I mean, always -- after we had been away somewhere, "It's nice to go, but it's better to come home."

Yes, indeed. I am so very happy to be home from our most recent motoring excursion. Three years ago we were gone 30 days on a trip out west, and I now wonder how I did it. We were only gone two weeks this time, and I was ready to come home by day 12.

It was a wonderful trip, however. We saw many fun and interesting sights and a great deal of spectacular scenery. We drove through Ontario and Quebec to Maine and then ate our way through New England on magnificent seafood. Haddock is now my fish of choice.

I visited six states I had never been to before (Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut) and added seven capitals to my collection -- those six, plus Albany, New York. I also added Nos. 98, 99 and 100 to my list of casinos visited.

By sheer serendipity we ended up in Kinderhook, New York, where we saw the home of President Martin Van Buren, and in Plymouth, Massachusetts, we took pictures of ourselves at Plymouth Rock.

We also visited Lubec, Maine, the eastern-most point in the contiguous 48 states. Having been to the western-most point, in Washington State, it can now be said I have spanned this country from one end to the other.

As for accommodations, we stayed in ten different hotels, and, on the whole, they were fine. I have, however, been able to determine from first-hand experience that the level of one's satisfaction with any hotel depends almost entirely upon whether or not the location of the toilet-paper holder puts it within easy reach.

Yes, I am glad to be home.