Reflection on Remembrance

I had the amazing opportunity on Sunday to take a break from my mad NaNo writing-fest and attend a Remembrance Day ceremony with my daughter. She's an Army cadet (much to the chagrin of her Air-Force father) and her unit was marching in support of their sponsor, a local Legion.

Veterans, Legion Members and Cadets stand at attention.

It was a bizarre little ceremony, as the memorial gates they were marching to are located on a main street in a busy city. There was a police escort, several bicycle cops and two police cars with flashing lights. The cadets (age 12-18) looked sharp, marched well, and came to a halt in the middle of the intersection, the police officers directing traffic around them and the few war vets healthy enough to stand with them. In spite of the setting, and the low attendance, the Legion members led us through the National Anthem and played (via recording) the Last Post. We had a moment of silence. Like every ceremony of this nature, I struggled with the tears that inevitably well up when I think of the lives lost. Perhaps it's survivors guilt, perhaps it's the memory of so many friends and neighbours who have lost their lives in the service of our country, or perhaps it's fear that some day I could hear that bugle call someone I love dearly home. Whatever the cause, the moment of silence, to me, is sacred. And on that busy street with police officers directing traffic Sunday morning, it was no different.

As the moment of silence ended, I was shocked to hear a middle-aged woman start to yell. "You ruined the last post! You ruined the moment of silence! You should be ashamed!" she screamed at a poor unsuspecting police officer just behind my daughter. I'm sure I wasn't the only one confused. My poor daughter, standing there protected by the police officer helping the traffic through (which, by the way, was now backed up at least 6 blocks in each direction), looked like she was about to bolt.

I think (but I'm not sure) that this woman was mad at the police officer for letting the traffic through during the moment of silence. In her ignorance though, she not only insulted someone who was bravely doing his job, but those in front of her, who were doing what was important...remembering. I can't tell you how furious I was at this loud, angry woman who for some reason thought she had the duty to blast someone for ruining a ceremony that she herself was ruining. I wanted to run into the street and scream at her. Had she worn a uniform for her country? Did she watch the father of her children get on a plane for a 6 month tour in the desert? Had she held her son as he cried silently for the father he knows is in danger? Had she seen the rows, upon rows of gravestones in a lonely French field? Had she sat up late at night waiting for her husband to come home from a rescue mission in the middle of a blinding storm?

I have.

And as much as I wanted to give this sad woman a piece of my mind, I didn't. The men and women who die every day so that we can stand and pray freely in a city street deserve better than that.

To his credit, the police officer listened to her quietly, attempted to placate her, and continued doing his job. The cadets, legion members and veterans ignored her. The ceremony finished and we walked away. I'm sure there are better ways to hold a ceremony than with a few straggly spectators in the middle of a busy street. But our discomfort was minimal. The act of remembrance is what counts. 

To the men and women who have died so that I can sit here, writing my unedited thoughts...thank you.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,

We will remember them.

Laurence Binyon

My Life. In Six Words.

On Monday evening I was dropping my daughter off for an extra-curricular activity at a local school. While standing with her, my eyes drifted to the bulletin board in the hall. There was a double page spread from a national paper stapled there, and a whole bunch of white paper sheets with what looked like mini-poems on them.

Intrigued, I walked over and checked it out. The article was on ‘Six-Word Memoirs’. Basically, boiling your existence into a short, six-word blurb.

The memoirs on the bulletin board were amazing…

I am a sneaking ninja. Stealthy.

Six Siblings Make a Girl Tough!

Father died young. Grew Up Fast.

Working Janitor. My ambition lacks ignition.


And on, and on. Some of them were just lists of traits…Loving, Working, Sleeping… things like that. Some of them were full sentences.

I’ve since searched the internet—turns out this is quite a phenomenon. Magazines, newspapers, and news channels across the world have done articles on the six-word memoir. There are even books on the subject. So I'm a bit behind the times.

Anyway, as I was driving home Monday night, daughter safely ensconced in her activity, my mind whirled. Could I do it? How could I turn all of the things I do into a six word bio? My life is a neverending series of hats—I wear a different one every hour.

I couldn’t get it out of my head. Even while I was falling asleep that night the words were rolling through my mind. I help. I heal. I work, play, laugh, cry, push, hold, write… I’m a mother, a wife, a physio, a horse-holder, a diabetes nurse, and a shoulder to lean on.

And then it hit me. Everything I do involves building someone else up. My success is their success. My triumph is a good A1C. An A+ on a test. A patient rolling in to the clinic in a wheel chair and walking out his own feet weeks later. A military man standing at the front of the parade. Even in writing, I just want to share. I want to make you, the reader happy.

My six-word memoir?

Success doesn’t always mean coming first.

For me anyway. My success is standing in the wings. It makes my heart sing. Yah, I might have cheated a bit with the contraction. But I think that’s me in a nutshell. I haven’t been ‘first’ at anything since high school. But I’m content with where I am right now.

What’s yours? I’d love to hear it. Leave it in the comments. Or maybe make one up for someone else you know. Give it a try.

Blogshead Revisited

Days hubby was gone.....151

Days til he returns.....NONE!

Current Work In Progress... Editing 48,000 wd manuscript from NaNoWriMo


Well, so much for November and December. Ummm...I lost them somewhere in the snow. How is it that when life is complicated and crappy I find lots of time to blog, but when it's busy but good...? Not so much.

I could bore you with tons of details about how my wonderful hubby came home(my kids had absolutely NO IDEA until he was standing in front of them), I took part in and won NaNoWriMo (along with my three children), and had a great Christmas with family and friends locally and in my home town...but there were no major catastrophes, blood sugars stayed relatively normal (well, except for the emergency roadside site change in Montreal), and people were happy in my house. I was happy in my house. November and December were good.

Enter January.

Snow. Cold. Dark. Editing.

As much as I dislike the snowy, dark, frigid days of late January. Editing really makes me shiver.

I've been a really good girl. I put away my NaNo manuscript for almost six weeks. And now, for the first time since I did my final NaNo update on Nov 29th, I've taken it out and am reading it.

It's always a bit shocking the first time I read something I've written. I wrote that?? Me?? Cool. It's not bad! Seriously! Sure, it's not publishable material yet, but the feeling is there. My problem is taking that feeling and expanding it to something vortexy. Something that sucks you in and spits you out panting on the last page. The bones are there, but my editing skills are not. Help!!

So....instead of editing (my plan for the evening), I'm blogging. Hmmm...avoidance is the best policy. And as a working, writing, miltary spouse and mom of three kids, there's always something else to do than edit!! Laundry! Dishes! Vacuuming! Cleaning the kitty litter! Scraping boogies off the wall! The list is endless.

But those all sound too much like work.

I'd rather just sit here and talk to you.

Brenda