Capture your Dreams

Cemetery Watchman
 
 I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's.  Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655.  Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.  Full dress was hot in the August sun.  Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, a '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new.  It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace..  An old woman got out so slowly I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about four or five bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn't help myself.  The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!'  But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.

I broke post attention.  My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch.   I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.

'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'

She took long enough to answer.

'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.'

'My pleasure, ma'am.'  Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.

She looked again.  'Marine, where were you stationed?'

'Vietnam, ma'am.. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'

She looked at me closer.  'Wounded in action, I see.  Well done, Marine.  I'll be as quick as I can.'

I lied a little bigger:  'No hurry, ma'am.'

She smiled and winked at me.  'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off..  Let's get this done.  Might be the last time I can do this.  My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.'

'Yes, ma 'am.  At your service.'

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone.  She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.   She murmured something I couldn't quite make out..  The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone.  I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek.  She put a bunch on a stone; the name was  Stephen X.Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone,  Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.

She paused for a second.  'Two more, son, and we'll be done'

I almost didn't say anything, but,  'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'

She looked confused..  'Where's the Vietnam section, son?   I seem to have lost my way.'

I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'

'Oh!', she chuckled quietly.  'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at.  She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted.  She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970.  She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.

'OK, son, I'm finished.  Get me back to my car and you can go home.'

Yes, ma'am.  If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'

She paused.  'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father,  Stephen was my uncle,  Stanley was my husband,  Larry and Darrel were our sons.  All killed in action, all Marines.'

She stopped.  Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know.  She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.
 
I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.
Get to the 'Out' gate quick.. I have something I've got to do.'

Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him.  He broke the rules to get us there down the service road.  We beat her.  She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead.'  I humped it across the drive to the other post.

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut!  Present Haaaarms!'

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye-- full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.
 
She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

Instead of 'The End,' just think of 'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer:  'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas.  Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.'
Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts.  They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.
 
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!

If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under! You are required to pass this on NOW!!

I never really liked the terminology "Old Farts"
But this makes me feel better about it.
And if you aint one, I betchya you know one!
I got this from an "Old Fart" friend of mine!

OLD FART PRIDE
I'm passing this on as I did not want to be the only old fart receiving it. Actually, it's not a bad thing to be called, as you will see. Old Farts are easy to spot at sporting events; during the playing of O Canada (or The Star Spangled Banner). Old Farts remove their caps and stand at attention and sing without embarrassment.  They know the words and believe in them.

Old Farts remember World War II, D day,  VE day, Normandy  and Hitler. They remember the Atomic Age, the Korean War, The Cold War, the Jet Age and the Moon Landing. They remember the   Peacekeeping Missions from 1945 to 2005, not to mention Vietnam.  .

If you bump into an Old Fart on the sidewalk he will apologize. If you pass an Old Fart on the street, he will nod or tip his cap to a lady. Old Farts trust strangers and are courtly to women.

Old Farts hold the door for the next person and always, when walking, make certain the lady is on the inside for protection.

Old Farts get embarrassed if someone curses in front of women and children and they don't like any filth or dirty language on TV or in movies.

Old Farts have moral courage and personal integrity. They seldom brag unless it's about their children or
Grandchildren.

It's the Old Farts who know our great country is protected, not by politician's, but by the young men and women in the military serving their country.

This country needs Old Farts with their work ethic, sense of responsibility, pride in their country and decent values.

We need them now more than ever.

Thank God for Old Farts!
 
Pass this on to all the "Old Farts" you know.
 
I was taught to respect my elders.
It's just getting harder to find them.

Mommy Rhapsody from Church on the Move on Vimeo.

Jail vs Nursing Home
Let's put the seniors in jail, and the criminals in a nursing home. 

This way the seniors would have access to showers, hobbies,
and walks, they'd receive unlimited free prescriptions, dental
and medical treatment , wheel chairs etc. and they'd receive money instead of paying it out.

They would have constant video monitoring, so they could be
helped instantly ,if they fell, or needed assistance.
Bedding would be washed twice a week, and all clothing would be
 ironed and returned to them.

A guard would check on them every 20 minutes, and bring their meals
and snacks to their cell. They would have family visits in a suite built for that purpose.

They would have access to a library, weight room,spiritual counselling, pool, and education. Simple clothing , shoes, slippers, P.J.'s and legal aid would be free, on request. Private, secure rooms for all, with an exercise outdoor yard ,with gardens.

Each senior could have a P.C. a T.V. radio, and daily phone calls.
There would be a board of directors , to hear complaints, and the guards
would have a code of conduct, that would be strictly adhered to.

The "criminals" would get cold food,  be left all alone, and unsupervised.
lights off at 8pm, and showers once a week. Live in a tiny room , and pay $5000.00 per month and have no hope of ever getting out.

Justice for all.