Me, Trixi and Memorial Day

                Me, Trixi and Memorial Day





It was a good morning for a walk.  The trees were in full leaf now and all the birds in the neighborhood were busy with their nest-building duties and their many territorial disputes.  It was a day that evened the scales for all the icy cold ones at the other end of the calendar. 

It was a doggoned good day to be alive.

I take this walk every morning nowadays.  I’d like to think that I’d be out there walking anyhow, putting one foot in front of the other if I didn’t have the reason to do so that I do now.  For my health, you know.  I’d like to think those positive thoughts, but I’m honest enough to know that I’d probably procrastinate without that reason I mentioned earlier and not go. 

The reason for my walk is named Trixi and she’s our dog. 

She also dearly loves taking her morning amble with yours truly.

Trixi keeps me honest.  I can’t easily dissuade her or rationalize not taking her out every morning because my muscles are sore from yesterday’s activities, the sciatica in my back is kicking up or my knees are aching like the old man’s knees they actually are.  She ignores all those pitiful objections, looks at you with those trusting brown eyes and says with her doggie whine, “C’mon pop.  It’s time for takin’ your pooch out for her mornin’ constitutional!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s GO!”

So I snapped on her walking collar, clipped the leash to it and out the front door we went.

Today was a bit different than a lot of our mornings, however, and I was reminded of that difference by hearing a hearty thump-thump-thump and ratt-a-tatt-tatt of drums echoing up the street from downtown.  Today was Memorial Day and our town’s annual parade was just passing by a few blocks away from where Trixi and I were taking our walk.  I listened as we walked and recognized several John Phillip Souza marches and some other familiar martial music.  The bands in the parade were doing a good job this year, as far as I could tell from this distance, and I found my feet sympathetically falling into the rhythms of the rumbling drums and bright brass.  Trixi might have noticed her master walking a bit oddly, but she wisely made no remark about it. 

She’s smart that way. 

I listened to the music and my mind began to wander.  I thought about today being Memorial Day.  I thought about its meaning.  I remembered my wife and I had visited her hometown just the day before and we had placed a floral arrangement at her family’s gravesite.  We’d done the same service a few days earlier at my father’s, mother’s and grandmother’s gravesites in my hometown.  The performance of these duties had helped us remember those of our families who were now gone and to especially commemorate those members of the families who had served in the military – her dad and grandfather, my dad and brother.  I placed small flags in the memorial arrangements especially for them.

As Trix and I continued our morning walk and the band music began to fade away in the distance, I began to reminisce about the old days.  I recalled quite vividly my own service as a young man in the U. S. Air Force and everything that had entailed.  I remembered my wife’s grandfather, his service in France during World War 1 and what a great guy he was.  And I especially remembered my dad and my brother, gone now for 23 years and their service.  How each had given some of the best days of their youth in the service to our country. 

I sighed at all the memories flooding my mind.  All at once, out of the blue, I conjured up an apparition of someone, possibly an old soldier from the late 1800’s who was walking along with my dog and me.  He’d look around and marvel at the shiny automobiles rumbling along next to us, wonder at the broad paved streets and traffic signals, stare skyward and puzzle over the contrails painted in the sky.  Then he’d hear the military-sounding music from the band down the street and suddenly he’d smile.  He’d recognize the music and, somehow I knew, would understand the meaning of the Souza marches echoing in the air.  He’d nod formally to me, come more fully to attention as he walked and fall into step with me and the dog, enjoying the morning, the sunshine and the camaraderie of two old military guys walking together.

We’d walk along, side by side, our feet hitting the earth in unison for a while, feeling the old rhythms of marching for a bit, then he’d turn to me, give me a half-salute and slowly fade back into my imagination from whence he’d come.

I grinned a little at how endlessly fascinating our brains could be, how we could catch a few notes of an old song and fabricate a whole scenario based upon the memories invoked by it.  Trixi was, as usual, enjoying the day immensely, sniffing out the vast aroma landscape that only dogs are aware of and digging the feel of green grass under her paws.  She’d glance at me occasionally to make sure I was still there and was still in control. 

She liked that.

So, I thought to myself, another Memorial Day has come around again, another spring has graced us with its vernal abundance and I have again been lucky enough to see it.  I gave silent thanks for the beauty of the day and for the good life I was enjoying.  But more importantly I gave thanks for those who had made it possible by their sacrifice and service to our country. 

At last Trix and I were almost done with our walk and were heading back home.  Our path was lined with many Old Glories, snapping and waving in the wind.  It was a beautiful sight.

Today was a day for remembrance; a day to honor those who had gone before us and a day to enjoy the liberties that had been won for us with our forebear’s strength, duty and blood.  It was another Memorial Day.  It was a good day for me and those around me, a glad day.

And Trixi, in her own way, was glad too…