Those I remembered on Memorial Day 

On this most recent Memorial Day weekend i spent sometime reflecting on the soldiers In my life. My maternal grandfather was a horse soldier in WW1; i have a photocopy of his draft notice snd a picture of him in uniform on a horse.

My father was in the Navy, the Army Air Corp and later the United States Air Force. He flew in planes in the Navy during WW11. He served during the Korean  conflict and Viet Nam war. He was in the military his entire working career.  

My uncle’s, cousins, brother, two husbands and my oldest son also served, as well as a niece. They all felt a call yo serve. 

A strong thread of patriotism is woven through the fabric of my life. 

No one in my immediate family died in war. My mother’s first fiance died in the second world war. A dear high school friend paid with his life in Viet Nam; another friend was one of the countless victims who returned as mere shells of the young men who left. Their minds forever scarred.  

When my father was in the last year of life the Navy awarded.him some medals 70 years after he earned them. All of his five children attended the extremely moving ceremony…he hated being in the spotlight but endured the event for us kids. Less than a year he was gone;  buried in the military cemetery at Fort Sam Houston. His was not the only funeral I attended in that place filled with a seemingly unending ocean of white tombstones. I suspect it will not be the last. The sound of Taps played on  bugle on a gray December after a twenty one gun salute will forever be etched on my heart. 

This  year I needed my flag hung early. Saturday we hung it over our front porch. The next morning at Mass, there was an elderly man alone, a few rows in front of me. He had a colorful shirt on , on a grey, rainy Sunday. I was startled to notice the naval planes and ships on the shirt on the word  “Midway” in red lettering. I left my seat when it was time to offer each other the sign of peace and walked up to where he was standing and touched his arm. He turned as I said “Peace be with you.” That ever present thread of patriotism  will always tie me to the military. I looked in his  aged eyes and saw another American hero.

Peace be with them all, now and forever.

©Nancilynn Saylor.                                      June 6, 2017

Talkin’ ’bout my generation

They answered a call.                               kissed their mothers goodbye.                 Never to return…

©Nancilynn Saylor.                             Memorial Day 2017

Photo from Internet of VietNam memorial wall /Remembering Hank

Wish you were here…

I awakened  after a night of restless dreams to a sweet text message from one of my late son Steve’s high school friends. He always adored Jo and they participated in theater arts together…he truly loved her for her beautiful heart.

I have a some sweet special friendships with many of his friends from high school and am happy to report that it is a positive result from FaceBook. Social media can have some positive benefits . 

My sons had a wild and wacky relationship growing up. They often fought like siblings can do, but would defend each other like knights, against the dragons of the outside world! 

I miss my oldest boy and know his brother, Mike, does too! 

So thank you, dear “JoJo” Daly-Di Nova, for this morning surprise picture from your ten year reunion. Love those beautiful smiles!

© Nancilynn Saylor                                         16 February 2017

“…to every thing there is a season”

While working last week, my friend and I heard a thump

on the plate glass picture window of the shop…

I had a sickening feeling in my stomach

because I’ve heard such thumps

before.

I sighed as I went to the door and looked out.

A small bird lay, stunned, below on the sidewalk.

Rushing over, I stooped and gathered her up in my hand.

She was a tiny, immature female Cardinal.

My very favorite bird-  more admired and revered even above an Eagle.

They often appear to me and remind me of loved ones  who are gone.

I took the tiny creature inside.  Her neck wobbled too freely.

My friend held her as

I reached for a small box to set her in.

     In my heart

I wanted her to just be stunned. My brain

knew better.

Her feathers were as soft as kitten fur.

Before I could turn back

her spirit slipped away.

Her season

so soon

was over.

©Nancilynn Saylor

photo from Pintrest of immature female Cardinal

Image result for tiny dead female cardinal

gods as companions

gods as companions
we were never so
strong
as a species…
to hold up our end
alone.
Companions were sent:
Wild flowers
Spring breezes
Waves…
Nothing took hold- until arrived
In our most lame moments,
dogs.
dogs like! Gilligan, he

Of snaggled tooth and curly, beige hair!
He, who wondered why

I thought I was in charge-,

When, clearly

he knew differently.
He stayed for seventeen years

and herded me,

Wherever I was supposed

to go.
And, upon my arriving at the place,
He lay beneath my feet
and breathed his last…
I scarcely lived through the next five days
before getting another rescue
no one else
wanted.
I could not bear to walk in the door
of a house that had no dog!
Needy
      needy
           needy,
you or me?
Angus!
What a mess you were
scarred from repeated foiled escapes

or escapades
you, looking just like Toto
welcomed me
your Dorothy-
clicked my heels
three times
and you were home.
Tomorrow makes a week
that you too, are gone
Seventeen years- twelve by my side!
Oh my dog, my dog
you have forsaken me.
My heart still cannot take a breath
without tears.

©Nancilynn 2016

For sweet Jesse

 

It is before first light, I make

my way through the house without

piercing the veil of solitude.

Through the one window open

somewhere, the chirping of a toad

Echoes here to this spot

where I sit reflecting on seasons.

This week,

a dear, sweet friend breathed his last

hard breath on earth &

transitioned to another plain.

My saddened heart,

Joined countless others,

broken by his passing.

His journey and suffering here

completed…

now,

Angel wings.

I will miss his smiles.

© Nancilynn Saylor