MIKE BARCLAY, VIETNAM VET
Today is Memorial Day, 2012, and this morning I took a Vet to breakfast...my husband, actually. Mike served in Vietnam in the years 1966-67, and though we have talked about his experience through the years, I decided to do a kind of interview, over our Bob Evens biscuits, to learn some of the facts of Mike's experience. Mike trained for 8-9 weeks at Fort Polk, Louisiana and did advanced training at Fort Eustis, Virginia where he was trained to be a seaman. I think that he was fortunate in this because, even though he could have experienced enemy fire, he never did as a seaman on a supply boat traveling up and down the Mekong  Delta. Mike left home on August 12, 1966 from O'Hara Airport in Chicago where he had driven with his Mom and Dad from Colfax, Illinois (about 2 hours drive) two days in a row because the first airplane transport had no room. I can just imagine what his mom and dad must have been thinking on the ride back home, wishing that he was coming back home to stay. But back they went the second day, and with anxiety and trepidation, he boarded a MATS (Military Air Transportation plane) because all the airlines were on strike at that time. Mike's tells me that his Mom and Dad were just as apprehensive as he was sending their youngest (& only one to go ) off to war. I personally cannot imagine such a difficult thing to do.....and I know that his mother must have been in tears while his dad tried to remain stoic and strong.
Mike flew to San Francisco, Hawaii, the Philippines  and then to Vietnam where he checked in at Camp Pen Hoi, called by the military, Camp LBJ, a very large army base out in the middle of "nowhere" with jungle all around. From here, Mike was given his year's assignment as a "seaman" or "boats- man" on a 14 crew supply boat that traveled up and down the Mekong Delta delivering food and army supplies. And, although the quarters were tight, the crew got along well together and ate  great food from the cook on board, named Roosevelt Little. Guard duty for the boat was 24-7 and Mike stood guard  plenty of nights as well as days, but during Mike's time aboard, the boat was never fired upon. What a blessing!  Mike spent his R&R in Hong Kong; saw the sights and bought himself a new suit and coat.
Forever, I will be grateful that Mike did not see combat in Vietnam  I honor him as a veteran today because Mike went, and no matter what one might think of the merits of the war in Vietnam, Mike went. And, no, he did not have much of a choice as he was drafted, but still,he went.
Today I think about all the men and women who "went" when they were called or even signed up to go, and those who are at war today in the name of the United States. I am grateful for their dedication to our protection.
Mike told me this morning over breakfast that he had a chance to "re- up" for 90 days, and if he had,  he would have been discharged upon his return to the U.S. He then said, "if I had done that, then I would not have met you." This is true as we met in Washington, D.C. after Mike's return when he was stationed at a base outside of D.C. and I was there working for the Peace Corps. It was so sweetly said that, after 42 years of marriage and putting up with me, I think he still thinks he made the right choice.

 

Today I was cleaning out some drawers and came  across a file entitled

"Late Bloomers." And, before I tossed it, I reread about some famous people who did not hit their stride, or realize their true talent until later in life. I think of myself as a late bloomer in that, I always wanted to be a writer, and did not begin to write seriously until well into my fifties. And, I was 67 when I published my first novel, "To See a Sundog." So many of us in life are consumed with responsibilities of jobs, marriages, children, family etc. that, unless we have made our passion or interest a career, we do not have much time for it until later in life. What is gratifying to know is that it is never too late to do what we do  well, and  to do what we love.

 I think about Julia Child who did not serve a French meal until she was 36, and Susan Boyle who debuted with her magnificent voice at the age of 48. So many late bloomers were considered "failures" at an early age, and often did not do well in school. Thomas Edison's teacher told him that he was unable to learn; Albert Einstein had a difficult time learning language and failed his college entrance exam. Winston Churchill failed sixth grade and Isaac Newton's school work was considered poor. Henry Ford was evaluated as "showing no promise." F.W. Woolworth's employers refused to allow him to wait on customers because "he didn't have any sense." Like many of us,  I am prone to discouragement, and tend to give up when I cannot see the value in something. Or, I have second thoughts about the worth of the endeavor, or if it has any meaning. But, then I discovered that if it has meaning to me, it is worth doing, and again, it is never too late. As I write this, I have three different books in the "pipeline," and all are substantially begun. These "late bloomers" encourage me to continue......

I remember a quote from my High School, The Summit, that was nicely framed and easily read each time I walked down the hall  to my  classrooms. It said, "Greatly begin though thou have time but for a line....low aim, not failure is crime." I have never forgotten this, and it continues to inspire the writer in me. If you want to read more about Late Bloomers, go to the BLOG of Debra Eve.

Today I am featuring some of the pages from my Art Journal Books.....I love creating these art books, and use a variety of medians to express ideas, writings, sayings, art and amazing color. I will add a few here for today's entry, and for you to enjoy. I have finished four of these books which will be featured in an art show in Cincinnati in mid September.

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

MY BEAUTIFUL MOTHER AND ME

Last year in the early weeks of May, I watched, out my window, a Mother Robin build her nest in a tree very close to our house. The nest was so close that I could have reached out and held the nest in my hand if I so desired, which, of course, I wouldn't. I write this simply to tell you how close I felt to this Mother Robin, and how closely I watched, from beginning to end, the hard work she did to build her nest; the patience she demonstrated while sitting on her nest waiting for her babies to break through; the tenacity she showed bringing food back and forth to her young off springs before they could fly; the proficiency with which she dropped food into her babies mouths, and finally the endurance she demonstrated waiting for the last of her four babies to get up the courage to  fly away as she called to them, from a distance, to come and join her. The whole process seemed to me to take about 2 months, and I was a faithful follower.  I am quite taken with nature and the lessons I learn observing nature in all its complexities and manifestations of life, and this was such a special time to observe nature at its best and also, motherhood at its finest.   
Sunday is Mother's Day, and I always think of my mother who did so much for me, and for my six brothers and sisters growing up. If you scroll down to Mother (not mothers) in my menu, you will see the poem I wrote about my mother on this BLOG some years ago. Say whatever you want about mothers, but in my case, she was one of two people in my growing up years that I always knew was on my side no matter what stupid thing I had done. . She saved me more than once! So in memory of my mother, and as a tribute also to my two wonderful daughters who helped me to be the mother I am to them, I share a poem that I wrote some years ago called
MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

There is a strong and delicate thread
That spreads through the heart
Of mothers and daughters
And binds them together, forever

Like bright breasted Robins
 Who sew their nests
For hours and hours, stitch by stitch
A mother and daughter
Tie in time
Intricate moments
That are one of a kind

And just as the Robin and her mate
Bring different things to the nest
Like a twig, a leaf, or a feather
Mothers and daughters bring
A moment, a thought, a secret
To share with each other

And then,
A walk, a talk, a manner
Just their own

And like the bird who depends on its nest
In all kinds of weather
Mothers and daughters depend on each other

In all of nature and mankind
Nothing binds
Like mothers and daughters.

AWESOME DAUGHTER MICHELLE

                                                 FABULOUS DAUGHTER KERRI

HORSES

Today is the Kentucky Derby; the run for the roses....which has some history in my life. My mother rode horses growing up; loved them; went to horse races; read the track sheets like a pro; bet on them and often won. I was always amazed. I am sure that when Mother and Dad moved their family to Cincinnati in 1942, mother was as happy about being  closer to those beautiful southern horse farms in Kentucky as she was about the charm of Cincinnati along the Ohio River. My mother loved horses so much that, for many years, two weeks before the running of the Derby, Mother and Dad took their children out of school to drive to the Keenland Racetrack where the Derby "two year olds" raced before the big event. Cincinnati is so close to Kentucky (just across the Ohio River) that, every year at this time, there are a plethora of parties and celebrations to watch the Derby and sing "My Old Kentucky Home." To this day, my family still calls me from Cincinnati (I am the only sibling of seven not living there) to tell me the name of the horse that has been put into the "pool" to win the prize money should I have the winning horse. Two years ago, my niece's son, then five years old, won the pot after his mom put his name in the "hat." When my sister called  to Chicago to tell him that his horse won, his answer to her was, "I have a horse?" One of the funniest things I had heard ever! Because my mother loved horse so much,she was anxious to have her children learn to ride, which I did at a place in Cincinnati called "Hilltop Farms." I can still experience the feelings of trepidation and fear I had on those horses, and the terror I experienced as my two brothers went galloping forward ahead of me, encouraging my horse to do the same. I don't think that I ever got over my fear, and the last time that I was on a horse was when I was living in Washington, D.C. where I was riding with a friend in Rock Creek Park, and my horse took off hell-bent for the barn. Because I was not in control of the horse, I intentionally slid off sideways (rather like I had learned to do skiing when I was going to fall), and went head-first into a gully. The horse and I had portaged two roadways where cars were going by quickly, and I was afraid that, on one of these roads, while the horse was galloping back home, the horse and I would have the misfortune to meet a car. I think that my rolling off saved my live, perhaps. I did receive a concussion and was taken to the hospital in an ambulance. This was my last ride on a horse. Today, my granddaughter has begun to take riding lessons and loves it so much that she even offered, at age 7, to give up half of her allowance to continue. Her great-grandmother would love to hear that! Her grandmother, on the other hand, wishes her well.

Do you ever have days that feel like this? There was a time when I did not understand modern art very well, but as I live more and more in this somewhat bizarre and troubled world, I think that artists like Pablo Picasso have depicted modern culture quite well. I can identify today with this painting of the Spanish Woman in Blue because today, this is just how I feel....blue, confused, out of form, isolated, as was Picasso when he painted this of Francoise Gilot, and troubled as this lady appears to be. This gal certainly shows a sense of anxiety in her eyes. That one eye is painted yellow instead of black might be hopeful,  but today, that concept would be a stretch for me.  I don't know if that was the intent of the artist, that bad is always balanced with good...one can only dream. For me, this  painting seems to be in flow; in flux without a sense of groundedness which again, I can relate to today.Yes, this painting has meaning for me as I struggle with some life issues that perhaps plague us all. Today I relate to the Spanish Lady in Blue by Pablo Picasso and hope for a better day ahead, perhaps the kind of day that Wordsworth wrote about in his poem, "Daffodils."