You think you got it rough . . .

It's one of those days when I can't decide whether I want to go out to breakfast or dinner. I know, sounds like a dilemma. Is it Outback (I fell prey to a commercial) or a big breakfast at Creekside Cafe? Being middle class is full of such dilemmas I've learned. Apparently not knowing how to cook anymore aggravates the situation.

Tomorrow is Memorial Day, a day that always causes the same thought to cross my mind, and I'll warn you it's a morbid one. I always think what if Mr. Murphy hadn't made it safely back from the Philippines, where he served during WWII. He was on a boat (his term) and really didn't see too much action, but once a kamikaze flew toward them, only to change his mind at the last minute. Mr. Murphy has some chilling pictures of Japanese soldiers surrendering to American forces. He has a rifle in the attic and his old uniform. His fondest memory of the war is that once the whole ship got ice cream. The boat is where his hearing loss started, from firing the big guns.

He thinks it's funny I'm in a peace group because he never questioned what he would do when WWII started. He was too old to be drafted, and the first time he volunteered they sent him home to take care of his widowed mother. He was about 32 years old, and he went back to try again. The second time they took him. He was older than everybody else he served with. He could have stayed home, could have met my mother sooner. He's got that old fashioned patriotism, I guess. He tells me he wanted to go because all his pals were going. He's funny that way.

So, on Memorial Day I allow myself my morbid thought, even though Mr. Murphy downplays the drama and danger of war. I think when I do the peace vigil there will be a few more fingers raised today than usual. Memorial Day brings out something strange in people.

Have a Good One,
Peace