It is a little after noon on the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. I am headed north on the train for the long weekend, planning a restful time at the Cottage. There is a little work that needs to be done around the Cottage and a few things I need to work on but I think I am going to be spending my time this weekend largely on the deck, reading a book.
Right now, I am devouring Erik Larsen’s “Thunderstruck.” I am sure I’ll finish it this weekend after having stayed up later than I planned last night after getting wrapped up in the story of Marconi and a murderer.
As I head north, the Hudson River is choppy and bronze colored. White caps tip the waves as the sun shines down brightly; in the distance a few clouds scud across the horizon. The hills have turned green and we sit on the verge of summer. Against such idyllic circumstances it is not hard to slip away from the world and to focus on the nearby, the familiar and the comfortable. I’m sure many of us will be doing that this weekend.
Memorial Day was established to remember those who died in our armed forces in service to their country. There are over a million men and women who have. It grew out of the devastation of the Civil War in which over 600,000 Union and Confederate soldiers had died. Women went out to cemeteries and laid flowers on the graves of those who died. Originating in the south, the custom moved north during the years following the war, becoming a formal holiday in the 20th Century.
As a child, we went on Memorial Day to put flowers on the graves of the grandparents I had never known and on the grave of the brother I would have had if he had not died two days after birth. It felt somber and real and was considered a duty.
Not so much today. We have a more nonchalant attitude today to Memorial Day for the most part; it marks the unofficial beginning of summer with Labor Day marking the unofficial end. It was only in 1971 that it became the last Monday in May. I think I should remember that but I don’t.
I’m not sure that all that many go out to mark the graves of relatives with flowers these days. The VFW and other such organizations see that soldiers’ graves are marked with small flags. It is a tradition in the cemetery on the road to the Cottage. There will be parades.parties, barbecues and picnics, especially parades. It’s a big day for parades.
Hudson may have one but its big parade day is Flag Day. No one has ever explained it to me but that’s the day the City of Hudson pulls out all the parade stops.
On Memorial Day, the flag will be at half staff until noon and then raised to its full height to represent that after honoring the dead we will continue to protect the liberty for which they gave their lives.
Meanwhile almost 5% more Americans will be traveling this Memorial Day weekend than last year, availing themselves of the cheaper gas prices than last year’s though higher than earlier this year. Most people will be driving to their destinations.
Gradually I am getting toward my destination, looking forward to being at the Cottage. The sky is marginally cloudier, the market is down marginally, more boats are on the river and I am looking forward to the long holiday weekend but will do my best on Monday to remember those who served and died and also to think about those currently serving, men and women who are probably not enjoying the pleasant vistas I have.
Have a good Memorial Day Weekend.
Letter from the Vineyard 
Letter From New York 05 30 2016 Memorial Day thoughts from the Vineyard…
May 31, 2016A dense fog is beginning to settle on Edgartown harbor after a wet, chill day; rain pummeled down in sheets for a time and then there was the damp aftermath. I was delighted that I had thought to bring a sweater with me to the bookstore.
There was a steady stream of customers through the store and while it didn’t seem busy, when we closed out we had had a rather good day, he said, sounding like a shopkeeper.
I have a whole new respect for people who work in retail. I have always attempted to be nice to them. I will work even harder.
One elderly lady was in the store, with her daughter I think. My colleague, Stav, took care of them. Her credit card said her name was Gimbel and he asked if she was any relation to the department store Gimbels? And they nodded and said yes, they were.
It was Gimbel’s Department Store in New York that started the Thanksgiving Day Parade, watched by millions every year, now the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. But back when they made the original “Miracle on 34th Street” it was Gimbel’s that was making the parade.
Gimbel’s and Macy’s were both sold to Federated at some point and they phased out the Gimbel’s name in the 1980’s. The daughter said that no one young remembers them but Stav is younger than me by far and he remembered them.
Macy’s was the child of Isidor Strauss, who went down on Titanic with his wife, Ada. She would not be parted from her husband as the ship was sinking.
There are several memorials to their love in New York, most famous is the small park near 106 and Broadway, by which I have often walked.
It is Memorial Day and I don’t want that to go unnoticed. I thought about it when I was swinging, at last, out of bed today. I went to bed early last night, incredibly tired and slept long, having wild murder mystery dreams. [One of the things Joyce asked me to do was make suggestions for new mysteries to order…]
It is Memorial Day and I was thinking of all the men and women who have served the US in all its wars.
And always, on Memorial Day, I think about Greg Harrison, with whom I went to high school. Older than me, he enlisted in the Army after high school and died in some rice patty in Viet Nam.
He was a gentle soul. He once teased me about something and when he realized he had touched a chord that hurt, became protective of me. And I remember him every Memorial Day. I went to his funeral in Minneapolis and could not comprehend he was not with us anymore.
I still cannot quite comprehend that he is not with us anymore. I still remember the moment when he realized the tease hurt me. He had not meant to and after that, he was very good to me.
When this day comes, I mourn him. And will, until I die.
I am not in Minnesota and so cannot bring flowers to my parent’s graves; my brother does that, thankfully, as he does to our Uncle Joe, who was the most important father figure in our lives. Our father was a reticent man, not much given to social interchanges. Uncle Joe, however, was, and living next door to us, embraced us all.
When I was twelve, my father died and Uncle Joe did his best to be the best uncle he could be to me. He loved all his nieces and nephews and did his best to be fair and generous to us all.
He is remembered, too, this Memorial Day.
In the meantime, politics plunges on toward whatever end. I am weary and wary, fearful and fretful and it will be what it will be. And when I return from my summer sojourns, I must do what I can to see Trump is not the next President.
Ah, fog envelops the harbor. At this moment, no boats at anchor can be seen. Time for dinner, a little time and then to sleep, perchance to dream…
Tags:Donald Trump, Edgartown, Edgartown Books, Gimbel's, Greg Harrison, Hillary Clinton, Isidor & Ida Strauss, Macy's, Martha's Vineyard, Mat Tombers, Mathew Tombers, Memorial Day, Obama
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