Vietnam Posts

The Things Refugees Leave Behind

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It was the last night he would be one, this grandson of mine, so I cradled him extra close as I rocked and whispered, “Whose birthday is it tomorrow?”

He popped the ba out of his mouth and smiled, “Mimi’s.” Then he flashed me one of his toothy grins. Sawyer Bean is a tease.

“Noooo,” I said, shaking my head. “Not Mimi’s. Whose?”

“Sawyours” he said, popping the ba back in.

We read a book, an old familiar one. One that I read to my own children, many moons ago, back when Carter was president, while pushing back and forth in that very same rocker. You know the book, too, I’m sure: “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can … I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could.”

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That Moment of True Christmas

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Books are always a go-to gift in this house .This year’s theme was on famous artists.

Christmas is a bit discombobulated this year, with two of our four kids celebrating the season in Georgia. I always figured on me being the one who would end up back in Georgia, instead it’s my son Stephan who is living and working there.

Life can be a journey full of switchbacks.

Here I raised one son and three daughters and now have three grandsons and the hope of a granddaughter one day. I’ve had her Easter outfit hanging in my closet now for a good five years.  So until I’ve lost all hope, the pink dress will continue to take up the space in my life I’ve created for it.

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Not the Most Important Election of My Lifetime

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I voted today. Checked all the boxes. Signed the outside of the secret ballot. Put a 4th of July stamp on it with fireworks exploding and drove it over to the Post Office and even went inside to mail it, just to be sure that there was no voter fraud taking place. I want my vote to count.

I hope you vote, too.

Everyone keeps saying this is the most important election of our lives. I’ve said it myself. But in reality, at least for me, this is probably not the most important election of my life. The most important election of my life took place in 1963 when Lyndon B. Johnson was elected. Johnson promised voters he would not be sending any “American boys” to wage war on behalf of South Vietnam.

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Somebody Else’s Sacrifice

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Refugees fleeing Mosul

 

Yes, I watched the last debate. You knew I would. I get why people don’t, especially those who have voted already. And, no, watching the final debate didn’t change my vote. I doubt it changed yours, either.

If you didn’t like Hillary before, you aren’t going to like her any more now.

And if you didn’t like Trump before, you likely detest him by now.

Count me among those who have no respect for Trump. I’m not going to try and change your mind about your vote one way or another, but I do want to explain this thing that Trump does that drives me over the edge of raving mad.

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A Closeted Hippie’s Take on Memorial Day

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In spite of growing up on the tailwind of the Hippie-era, I’m a traditionalist at heart. I like the Book of Common Prayer, the Our Father, Rosary beads, and the way Episcopalians always say, “And also with you”.  I love the formality of a processional, a church choir that still wears choir robes, and the high church sound of an organ well-played. The whole world looks more magical to me through the lens of stained glass windows, even those portraying the most profound of all betrayals.

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