Sitting on a Pile of Panty Hose

Memorial Day is a day to remember.  Remembering our service men and women.  Remembering those that have gone on before us.  Remembering what makes our country great.  Remembering. 

This was a weekend full of remembering.  We held the 'mother of all yard sales' (no pun intended) to sell my mother's stuff.  While we packed and sold and donated, we remembered.  We remembered the stickers placed on everything the Army moved for our family (15+ moves).  We remembered Mom's turtle collection extended beyond the 300+ on display and into the scores of earrings, pins and necklaces.  We remembered Mom was crafty, in the multitude of started and abandoned embroidery and crochet projects.  We remembered how she made much of our childhood clothes as we sold piles of swatches of fabric and 20 year old patterns.

Sunday we remembered to spend time together doing nothing.  On Friday night, my 6 year old asked when we were all going to stop working and have family time.  We were always so busy and he didn't get to play baseball with Uncle Michael.  We got the message.

Monday began with a mass in the St. Anthony cemetery to remember those fallen in battle.  Taps was played and a 21 gun salute opened the service.  The National Anthem, God Bless America, and the Battle Hymn of the Republic made up the song lists.  It was quintessentially American, spiritual and amazing. 

In parking the car at the cemetery, I spilled my coffee all over the back seat of Dad's car.  That's how I ended up sitting on a pile of pantyhose.  They were the only thing handy for sopping up caffeinated, Starbucks goodness in his back seat.  I was later totally weirded out to learn his girlfriend-who-is-only-the-person-he-spends-time-with-and-not-really-his-girlfriend had donated the pantyhose for tieing up tomato plants.


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