It means to me, my Grandma Youmans taking me down to the local newspaper office, when I was about 9 years old, and buying me an American flag all of my own. They had them on sale especially for Memorial Day.

From my earliest memories, it meant a trip, by car, up to the old cemetary in New Castle, CO, way up in the hills, above many ranches, on a dirt road woith square corners around each field of grazing cattle.

Going to the Hudson gravesite, with my grandparents and Crawford greatgrandparents, as well as others buried there. It has a huge solid granite headstone, which back then seemed of awesome proportions. The area, which is really the foothills of the Rockies, is usually dusty and somewhat hot, with high altitude sun and no reaily available water. We would clean up the site and my particular choice of jobs, was to outline the edges with little pebbles, each year.

Across the way, we would go to my Mom's parents, my Youmans grandparents and her brother, Ralph, who died his sr. yr in high school from a bicycle accident. This one was a little bit fancier, with a concrete edging around it. If I remember right, it also had a few shrubs or flowers, hardy, native plants which could survive without any "perpetual" care. We placed Mom's ashes near there, this January, beside her other brother, Howard, a perpetually walking wounded of WWII, who finally couldn't take it anymore and fatally shot himself a few years ago. He had shrapnel near his heart, which they told him could kill him anytime, from the end of the war on. He also had a lot of what we now recognise as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which he kept under tight control with drinking. He was an incredibly brilliant jazz clarinetist and when he retired had a busines making exquisitely designed, inlaid wood products which were sold in Aspen to high mucky-mucks from all over the world.

I am sure we must've went to a parade or two over the years. We would usually finish up the cemetary visit with a picnic and a ride around the area where mom and dad grew up and/or go for a swim in the hot springs at Glenwood Springs, juts up the road.

My sister, bet, will be going up there tomorrow to add flowers and clean up, esp. where we put mom's ashes.

I do often think of my uncles who were WWII veterans and my Roger who was in the Philipines during Vietnam. He ahd high security clearance and often helped to unload body bags in the dark of the night. They were sworn to secrecy as to quantity; the government didn't want the numbers to get out the press and hence the public.

My greatgrandad was a veteran of Bloody Kansas on the Union side; and the other was a recalcitrant rebel of the South.

I am grateful to all for working for justice. I am even more grateful that my son has not been put in that position. And, I second Art's desire. Gawd forgive this world if my grandsons ever have to go to battle, for I am not sure what I would do.

Thank you for starting this thread.

katlaughing