Seventy-eight years ago today, ten years, four months, and ten days before I was born, the Allies landed at Normandy in France during WWII. Think about that. Only ten years after the invasion, I was born. Not that long in the big scheme of things, folks. It’s been twenty-one years since September 11, 2001. My eldest grand-daughter is twenty-four now and her mother will be forty-five a month before my sixty-eighth birthday.
Brad and I have spent the day, on and off, remembering when we were kids growing up in the 1950’s and 1960’s hearing about our dad’s exploits in the Navy during WWII. That’s something to be proud of. We miss them both every day and do our best to remember the sacrifices they made for their families and our country.
My dad was claustrophobic as a result of sleeping in cramped racks on board ship and he was so sick of powdered eggs that when he ate scrambled eggs he wanted to be able to see bits of the egg white. Our lives are shaped in many ways by what we experience. Dad also came away from the war with not much good to say about British Naval officers (He couldn’t stand British Field Marshall Montgomery), the Japanese or the Germans. And that never changed til the day he died.
We all carry baggage of some sort the older we become and I can only pray that I’ve learned to put down some of that baggage. For instance, it’s been two years since I had any contact with my mother due to her verbal and emotional abuse towards me. Two years of peace and quiet. Two years of knowing I did the right thing and wondering why it took so long for me to face the fact that my mother enjoys hurting people. That’s not a nice thing to have to admit. But my family is better off for it and we are well down the road to being healed. Thank you, Lord. Watch over my mother and give her some peace, I pray. She isn’t a happy person.
On the knitting front, I’ve cast off the Trekking socks and they’re soaking in some Eucalan. I’ll put them through the spin cycle in the washer and then slip them on the sock blockers to dry after we finish our dinner. Brad made us hot dogs and warmed up some potato wedges to go with them. Time for dinner!
Rural Texas Knitter 