We had a super busy last few days: Kicked off the weekend with a mani-pedi, then a late night airport pickup, Yankees game bachelor party, our new iPad (!), lunch with the family, dinner with friends followed by an intense Dance Revolution competition, found out our good friends are having a baby (!), mowed our lawn for the first time, gave a few house tours, set up for and attended my niece's wedding (!), took a bazillion photos, spent half of Monday editing said photos and posting on Facebook, a long walk, an impromptu BBQ, and acquired a new-to-us air conditioner.
So since things are winding down a bit today, wanted to send all my belated well-wishes to anyone who might be reading this.
Our new lawn, coming quite nicely!
Our new flag, looking all spiffy, courtesy of Mom and Dad.
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Also wanted to take a few moments to share some words my father wrote about his experiences growing up during WWII in the Bronx. This is his response to a recent article in the local paper. I hope he doesn't mind me reprinting it here! So you understand a little better, Dad had just turned 7 a few days before Pearl Harbor was attacked:
"We'd scour the neighborhood for metal, paper, glass, rubber and take it all to an empty lot a few blocks away. The stuff would pile pretty high and trucks would come and haul it off for the war effort.
Lots of our staples were rationed and each family had their ration allotment.
In school, we were given small identification discs on a cord worn around our necks. We also had buttons of different colors with different numbers which we'd pin on our clothing to identify where we lived (just in case). And we had to do frequent air raid drills in school. Our church (St. Dominic's) was to be used in case the school was damaged. We rehearsed going there (just in case).
My dad was an air raid warden and had to go out when the community had night drills - sirens, lights out, the works. He was a bricklayer and was often called upon to work for weeks at a time in the construction of army facilities and landing fields. Many others, including people in my family, worked tirelessly in the defense plants
My small block had twelve service personnel including one WAVE. Three died. One man next door was in battles in the Pacific Island raids throughout the entire war, always on the front. And fortunately, he never got a scratch. The candy store had a big cardboard display in the window with a photo of everyone in the neighborhood who was in the service. They'd paint a gold border around the guys that were killed.
Families displayed small cloths in a window facing the street - red border with a blue star for each serviceman in the family. They'd replace the blue star with a gold one if one of them was killed.
At the end of the war, many of the streets had block parties in celebration. But those which had people killed, respected the families and refrained from having the parties.
Please thank Kay for bringing back those great (and sometimes sad) memories when the nation was called upon and responded to war with incredible sacrifice. Very, very different from today when we fight a war and still insist on tax reductions."
Wise words, Dad.
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