Monday, May 29, 2006


I thought about some poetry, perhaps. Shakespeare is always stirring, William Bryant, hell, name even a halfway decent writer/poet who hasn't aborn'd something famous about war dead.

At the end of the day we're left with memories that brave men would prefer over flowers, because to die in vain is the worst death. So we, to each their own, remember. In ages past, that's all a people did. Feast days were a time of recollection, an excuse for celebration. We haven't changed all that much but we do have one or two more distractions to keep us busy, so our holidays are perhaps more important as they wrench body and soul from the hectic mundane into memories of a time ago . They did, after all, die so that we could live the lives of a people free, so I'm not one of those to bash the barbeques and the beaches and the pleasures to be had on this day.

So enjoy yourself. Have some fun. That's proof enough, a fitting memorial, and evidence aplenty that such sacrifice bore fruit. It's always perfectly within reason to pause for a moment to hate the French, though, and that would be a worthwhile effort if you've the inclination.

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