Memorial Day

This little soldier is not quite 4" high. He's made of felt and all by hand, I'm pretty sure. He lived for many years in my mother's jewelry box, and after she passed away he came to me. I wish I had asked more questions of my mother when I had the opportunity. Maybe during some of the many times we sat in her living room drinking coffee. But I think this soldier, who has a safety pin on his back, was purchased for her by dear ol' dad when he was stationed in the Philippines just after World War II.

Dear ol' dad was one of the fortunate ones. The war officially ended while he was onboard a ship going to it. So he spent a year overseas at a desk job--keeping track of pilot logs for the Air Force. He was home for my birth, and then gone for my first year. My mother and I lived for most of that year with her parents, and all I remember from that time is a picture of the Gerber baby on my grandmother's bedroom wall.

When his year was up, dad wrote to my mother and gave her an estimate of about when he'd be home. By that I mean a range of several days. I remember her telling me that one evening she was sitting in our apartment and was startled to hear him call her name. And about six hours later he knocked on the front door.

The other day while looking over the garden and the weeds in need of attention, I decided to further procrastinate and went in search of some floral decorations for the two grapevine wreaths that hang near our front door. I'm underwhelmed with the results. Something more creative and festive, and possibly even fabric-related is called for. Stay tuned.....