The Blues. . .they come a callin'

Truth be told, it's been a let down of late. . .and I will freely admit it may be mostly at my own beck and call.  Hey, we can't be "up" all the time, and sometimes I just give in to the old "buck up - chin up" attitude and have a little pity party.  Ouch!  Hard to admit, but there you have it.  So here's some plain talk. . .

First, I swear there's nothing particularly bad/sad going on. . .but I predictably have a wee sadness creep in around Memorial Day.  Groan, I hear you, "Sandy, get over it!"  But first. . .

Many who read the blog, or know me personally, are aware that I had a now ex-husband in Vietnam - no fear, he came back safely, but in hindsight he was emotionally scarred and we were both too young and ill-equipped to realize. I know that I carry some baggage from that tense year of wondering if Da Nang had been shelled that day, would he be coming back, would the letters just stop, would he ever see our baby I was carrying? 

Yes, small potatoes when you consider the true ravages of war, but my young life (and my daughter's later) were deeply affected by that year and the aftermath.  It was a shameful time for our country  (no "hero" welcome then) - we drafted our young men to eventually come home (if not in a body bag) to feel ashamed.  Unspeakably cruel and quite stupid considering the lost generation.

I was also the daughter of an English girl. . .conscripted in WWII.  She was a WAAF, ACW, and served at the now famous (then secret) R.A.F. Station, Bletchley Park.  The secrecy held for some thirty years - until the late '70's I believe - as this was the place where Germany's coded messages were deciphered and eventually broken.  She served in Hut #4, Naval Intelligence.  I am deeply moved to NOW know she was part of such an operation - it's been said in many circles to have shortened that war by two-four years!

Whoa. . .

Lest we leave out my dad, he was also serving in England - saw my mother across a crowded dance floor and the rest is history.  He signed on for an extra six months so they could be married in November of 1945 - whereupon he was sent to Germany immediately after the honeymoon - the Nuremberg, Bavaria area - and then eventually home to Alabama by April 1st. 

 I have their love letters and their separation at the zenith of their love reads true and full of hope, despite a world that had revealed its darkest underbelly while at a tender age.  Mom was only 17 when the war began.

So it hits me squarely this morning that I should look forward, not backward.  They certainly did! 

 Is a bit of reflection good for the soul?  Just as long as I don't become a bottom feeder - right?  You, dear reader, help me rise up - get things out of my head and into the ether.  Thank you!  As a reminder of all that's good and the legacy of a continuing saga -  Storey at the beach. . .

Storey - Marco Island, May, 2012