On Armistice Day (and my parents both insisted that it would always really be Armistice Day) my mom and dad would take me to the cemetery where my Uncle Dewey (fought at Iwa Jima, died shortly after WWII) was buried. There, there would often be a quiet gathering here and there of old men standing in the cold.
No poppies, though. No grand reinactments. Just a steadily dwindling number of people remembering the sacrifices they and their loved ones made.
Thanks for sharing your memories. It means a great deal to me. Makes me feel signifgantly less lonely knowing that I'm not the only person thinking about these things or having a private moment of silence this morning.
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Date: 2006-11-11 05:04 pm (UTC)No poppies, though. No grand reinactments. Just a steadily dwindling number of people remembering the sacrifices they and their loved ones made.
Thanks for sharing your memories. It means a great deal to me. Makes me feel signifgantly less lonely knowing that I'm not the only person thinking about these things or having a private moment of silence this morning.