Memorial Day

I have never been able to think of the day as one of mourning; I have never quite been able to feel that half-masted flags were appropriate on Decoration Day. I have rather felt that the flag should be at the peak, because those whose dying we commemorate rejoiced in seeing it where their valor placed it. We honor them in a joyous, thankful, triumphant commemoration of what they did. ~Benjamin Harrison

Benjamin Harrison, the 23rd president of the United States, was a colonel in the Union Army during the civil war. He lived in Indianapolis before and after his presidency.

It might be Harvey

Recently as I was watering flowers on the patio, I noticed a little boy, about 8 years old, walking down the sidewalk taking to himself. I have seen children sing to themselves in public without embarrassment. At least one of my nieces loved to sing aloud (and I mean loud) in restrooms when she thought she was alone. But it's unusual to see young children talking to themselves.

Now, I talk to myself frequently, but I'm an old lady. I have even found that I must be cautious that I don't speak to myself in public places. (As an old lady, she also rambles.)

As I watched him walk/run/hop down the sidewalk, I saw that he wasn't talking to himself at all. He would occasionally turn, look up, and speak enthusiastically to someone or something that I couldn't see. I know that his invisible-to-me companion was taller than he, but I would hesitate to assume it was a person. For all I know, it could have been Big Bird or his friend, Aloysius Snuffleupagaus.

My younger brother once came galloping up to me on an imaginary steed and asked me to hold the invisible reins while he ran in the house. I assured him I would be happy to watch his horse and he informed me (with that tone that brothers reserve for stupid sisters) that it wasn't a horse, it was a camel. I have no idea where a kid in southern Indiana found a camel, imaginary or otherwise.

Hmmm, talking to myself isn't so strange after all, now is it?

"Well, I've wrestled with reality for thirty-five years, Doctor, and I'm happy to state I finally won out over it." ... Elwood P. Dowd, Harvey, 1950

Here and There

I have a very extensive list of "favorite" websites that I have bookmarked for future reference. To keep things organized, I stick them in various folders and subfolders and sub-subfolders. I accessed one of the sites in the folder labeled Misc-fun the other day and realized that Misc didn't begin to tell the story.

In Misc-fun, I have access to such fascinating and educational sites as Suddenly Senior's Latest Jokes (hilarious, slightly risque site from where I frequently steal jokes); Coloring Page (I use this site to amuse kids - including myself); Silly Putty University (Just because it's silly.); The Daily Motivator (OK, I don't know why this one is saved, Inteview with God (beautiful pictures); and Nurstoons (sentimental site - takes me back to the night shift).

Then there is the subfolder Odd Misc. (Odd as compared to Silly Putty U?)

I can look up Census Information. (check out the population clock, upper right - it doesn't tell time.); search for a lawyer (in case I want to repeat lawyer jokes?); learn to write an investigative report (the way California peace officers do); research women's health issues; and look up really stupid things at MIStupid, "the online knowledge magazine".

That Misc-fun folder may explain why I know so much ... utterly useless information.

''We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel.''
—Sir Percy Blakeney (ch.12)

Hail! Hail!

It hailed again today. I can't remember the last time I saw hail in Indiana and I've seen it at least 3 times this spring. Maybe it's just my memory or maybe it's global warming or maybe it's just the way it is this year.

Whether it's cold, or whether it's hot,

we shall have weather, whether or not.

Skating through life

While watching some kids skateboard recklessly down a metal handrail on TV last week, I began to wonder when I got too old to slide across the kitchen floor in stockinged feet. That's about as reckless as I ever got (and with my lack of coordination that's more reckless than it sounds.)

Eventually I remembered: it wasn't old age at all that brought my kitchen-skating days to an abrupt end. It was a pair of non-skid socks.

One morning I went tearing into the kitchen & started across the floor like an Olympic figure skater. When those non-skid treads hit the floor, I stopped like a bug hitting the windshield of a semi on I-65, like Wiley Coyote hitting a frying pan, like an uncoordinated old lady trying to revive the youth she never had.

Age is a just a state of mind and I'm in a state of confusion...Me