Did you realize the significance of those poppies the VFW are always giving away in exchange for a few dollars each Memorial Day?

In 1915, inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields,” Moina Michael replied with her own poem: 

We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.

Decoration day became Memorial Day in 1868 and was first observed on May 30th 1868.  Moina Michael conceived of the idea of wearing the red poppy on Memorial Day to honor the war dead of our nation. The VFW created the “Buddy Program” in 1922 and continued the practice of selling poppies made by disabled veterans who would be paid for their work to provide some financial assistance.  Moina Michael’s image graced a 3cent stamp in 1948 as tribute to her contibution.

So what has Memorial day become?  After making Memorial Day the third Monday in May, it has become the “unofficial start of summer”, a sale day, a three day holiday of barbeques and shore runs.  It is losing its meaning as a day to honor our war dead.  Not to honor those who served, that would be Veteran’s Day, not to honor all the dead, really?  It is the day we honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country and yes, for our freedom… to barbeque and shop and bake in the sun. 

In December 2000 the “National Moment of Remembrance” resolution was passed which asks that at 3 p.m. local time, for all Americans “To voluntarily and informally observe in their own way a Moment of remembrance and respect, pausing from whatever they are doing for a moment of silence or listening to ‘Taps.”

There is no more mournful sound then that of Taps, it will stop you in your tracks and bring tears to your eyes no matter how strong you are or how little you know of its origins.  It is a fitting tribute and the very least we can do in the sceme of what these heroes have done for us.

What do we ask of friendship except to be taken for what we pretend to be – and without having to pretend. ~Robert Brault

On the occasions I travel for business my usual dinner consists of soup, salad and a glass of white in my hotel room.  I’m usually catching up on email and completing anything I left hanging from the day.  This time some combination of good weather, good meetings and proximity to my friend Laura led me to send an email, subject: You Around?

Laura and I have close to nothing in common.  We are both women in the car business (enough said) and can both craft quite the snappy email on occasion.  We’ve been sending those emails back and forth for probably eight years?  I don’t even know how long.  On my visits to the dealership where she handles warranty administration there has never been time to sit down for a meal or even have a ten minute conversation.  I think the management of the dealership would switch into a paranoid frenzy if they thought for one minute we were talking about them, which oddly enough we don’t…and perhaps she might find herself in an uncomfortable position if they knew we were friends.

Up until now we’ve been friends through email.  But you know how you know that some people are just your kind of person.  They are genuine and funny and out of the ordinary and if you just had a minute to sit down and hear their story you would be instant old  friends.

So through whatever good fortune we were able to meet for dinner.  As the hours ticked by like minutes we shared our stories and boy we two have very interesting stories. There was not an uncomfortable moment in those hours.   I thoroughly enjoyed our visit and her stories of partner and kids and adventures and talents and how she came to be where she was and the person she’s become all more interesting and genuine than I could have imagined.

I couldn’t be more glad that we have little in common but the car business, we barely touched on cars, because there is so much more richness in the uncommonality  of us.  I think by the time we said goodbye we both realized our friendship was going to be a long and interesting one regardless of how often we see each other.  Love that…glad you were around and thanks for coming to Peabody!

Just recently I had dinner with the Riley’s.  We were getting together to record their personal history.  It’s the gift I gave them for their fiftieth anniversary.  I want to tell (but more importantly I want to know) their “story”.  I don’t want to record the facts of their life, everyone knows that, I want to record their “story”. The behind the scenes, I never knew, aren’t they amazing story.

Although I aspire to make this part of my Ordinary Legacy work, I wouldn’t endeavor to gift something like this to people I know causually, we are dear friends and we have had dinner many times before.  Our dinners usually include wine, laughter, wit and inuendo, and oh yes a fabulous meal.  Whether Jan cooks or I do the meal becomes almost secondary to the excuse of sitting around telling stories. 

Our dinners run about four hours long but feel as if they are over in minutes.  There is rarely a lull in the conversation, there is always something new to talk about. There is eye rolling and cajoling and friendly bickering and heart felt explanations of events both past and present.  We truly enjoy each other’s company.

It’s a bit difficult to say goodbye always promising to get together sooner next time and off we go to our very different lives.  I won’t let on what I’ve discovered about my friends in gathering their personal history and formulating their story it’s not my place.  That will be up to them, suffice to say, they are very interesting people with a wonderful story indeed.

Evidence of a year well lived hangs on a unique clothes-pinned-wire woven frame of a thing in my office.  Collected over the course of the year there are thank you notes that are formal and scribbled and published and printed.   Clippings from the local paper, snapshots, and handmade tokens and scraps of the everyday deemed important.

Thank you notes are the best indicator of how you’re doing in life.  They are concrete evidence of a kindness extended or a task completed with perfection.  They represent appreciation. They always catch me by surprise.

Small hand written envelopes are pulled from the mailbox with utter joy.  I always open them up then and there and read the contents on the way back to the front door. It is becoming more and more unusual for people to take the time to write notes.  When one arrives thanking you  for the smallest of good deeds you truly realize your value.  You realize you’re on the right path to creating your legacy.

Birthday cards are another confirmation of your value, some silly, some snide but well intended and some sent directly from the heart.  I know the person sending it agonized over the myriad of cards and maybe shed a tear or two in the aisle.  I’ve done that, I’ve purchased those cards for the people that I would surely die for and have stood in the aisle flooded with emotion.  I treasure the people who have done that for me.

Snippets of recipes found in the paper, renditions of me made by my niece CJ,  upcoming events I should know about sent by email, clippings of me and my little rescues found in the local paper heralding our fundraising efforts.  Three years running as Queens of the Carnivale!

Pieces of palm from Palm Sunday sent over from Mom to bless me.  She prays and prays that one and I keep telling her God is not unhappy with me.  I think she’s actually starting to believe me.  Doesn’t stop her from praying but I’ll take all the prayers she wants to send.

At the end of each year I pull them down one by one and recall the moment of its receipt and the act that brought it about.  I settle into an afternoon of tea and reflection and solidify my new year’s resolution to live as if my legacy depended on it.

Then, I pack all the snippets into an envelope and throw the envelope into the big old hope chest that resides in my office closet.  At some point someone will open it and find each year’s envelope.  I know like I know that they, too, will settle into an afternoon of tea and reflection and they will know me through the remnants of documented good deeds.

Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value.
Albert Einstein