Memorial Day 2014

A reflective Memorial Day ...

.......... Ruprecht ( doesn't STOP reflecting ) 8

10 Years Ago ...

The morning of September 11th, 2001, I was at home.

Home was 3565 Saddleback Road in Park City, Utah

The television was on, my wife and I were watching incredulously at the horrors unfolding before us ... the newscasts ... the reactions ... the images.

I remember playing with my daughters. I thought about my youngest daughter - not yet a year old at the time - and what kind of world she wouldn't know as a result of the day. I remember my eldest daughter and I petting her cat, Stigma. It was a very reflective moment, playing with her, watching her watch her cat.

I remember going outside and looking up at the sky that afternoon and marveling at the planeless sky above me.

I remember reciting a silent prayer to God asking for him to watch over all the people touched by the tragedies of the day ... I did that several times during the day.

And I know He heard me.

................................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

An Ode to America

We rarely get a chance to see another country's editorial about the United States.

This article - taken from a Romanian Newspaper - was written by Mr. Cornel Nistorescu and published under the title 'C'ntarea Americii ('Ode To America') in the Romanian newspaper Evenimentulzilei ('The Daily Event' or 'News of the Day').

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~ An Ode to America ~

Why are Americans so united? They would not resemble one another even if you painted them all one color! They speak all the languages of the world and form an astonishing mixture of civilizations and religious beliefs.

On 9/11, the American tragedy turned three hundred million people into a hand put on the heart. Nobody rushed to accuse the White House, the Army or the Secret Service that they are only a bunch of losers. Nobody rushed to empty their bank accounts. Nobody rushed out onto the streets nearby to gape about. Instead the Americans volunteered to donate blood and to give a helping hand.

After the first moments of panic, they raised their flag over the smoking ruins, putting on T- shirts, caps and ties in the colors of the national flag. They placed flags on buildings and cars as if in every place and on every car a government official or the president was passing. On every occasion, they started singing 'God Bless America!'

I watched the live broadcast and rerun after rerun for hours listening to the story of the guy who went down one hundred floors with a woman in a wheelchair without knowing who she was or of the Californian hockey player who gave his life fighting with the terrorists and prevented the plane from hitting a target that could have killed other hundreds or thousands of people. How on earth were they able to respond united as one human being? Imperceptibly, with every word and musical note, the memory of some turned into a modern myth of tragic heroes. And with every phone call millions and millions of dollars were put into collection aimed at rewarding not a man or a family, but a spirit, which no money can buy.

What on earth can unite the Americans in such a way? Their land? Their history? Their economic Power? Money?

I tried for hours to find an answer, humming songs and murmuring phrases with the risk of sounding commonplace, I thought things over, I reached but only one conclusion ...

Only freedom can work such miracles.

- Cornel Nistorescu

Father's Day Rememberance

One of the last joyous times I had with my father was at his house in North Port, Florida more than two years ago.

It had been some time since he'd had a poker party and he was going to have one come hell or high water.

Guests were hailed. Food was purchased. Booze was put on ice.

Promptly, at the time indicated, a slew of friends and cohorts arrived, ancient and spry. I was introduced to each and every one of them. I heard more "Your father has told me so much about you!"-s, the smile that resided on my face had to have looked rote to anyone else that knew me. But not to these folks. It was genuine to them. They were indeed glad to see me. They were thrilled to have finally met me. And I them, no matter what my face might belie.

You see, this was the first visit I had had with my father in five plus years, since he swung out my way when I was last in Utah, on his way to his new digs in Florida.

It was the first time I'd met all his Floridian friends and it was the first time I had ever played poker with him. It was the first time I saw him eat as heartily as he did since coming to visit him a week prior. It was the first time he'd had a beer in ages.

He had ravaging cancer, you see. That was the reason I was there.

While playing poker, he cajoled and spit sarcasm and laughed and denied stories his friends told. It was indeed a sight to behold. It had been a long, long, long time since last I saw him have such unencumbered fun. And it would be the final time as well.

Early the next morning, I would have to call an ambulance to get him to a hospital. And I would spend the next few days in the hospital with him. He would recover enough for me to be able to leave, as scheduled, for home. He was cognizant and smiling and back to his stubborn, unemotional self when I left. His wife, I knew, had her hands full in the coming weeks.

I was back less than two months later. I was able to see him before he passed, coincidentally the night I got in. He was aware I was there, but that's about it.

Between talking to him and praying for him, I reminded him of that poker game a few months prior. I think it was the last time I saw him smile .....

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

........................ Ruprecht ( STOP )