Veterans supporting Veterans

listening is the most important skill in the art of conversation Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.                        Kurt Vonnegut We owe our disabled veterans more than speeches, parades and monuments. Dick Durbin

    We wanted something that was basic, really taken for granted.  These small stones look ordinary, even unimportant.  Each started much larger and through time have become smaller, smoother, more worn.  But these rocks formed the bedrock of our land.  Stones such as these have been used in the construction of our roads, fences, and homes.   Little boys have picked them up and kept them as “lucky rocks”, or learned to skip them across the water from their dad or big brother.  Maybe put in a collection by some young girl, picking them over, looking for the most beautiful.  Perhaps, rock just like this was used in a great monument, paying tribute to sacrifices.

  One of these rocks, alone, reminds us of our veterans.  Once part of a greater mass, they are the bedrock our country was built on, and whose shoulders still support us.  Smaller now, more worn, they can not be forgotten.  They can not be left alone  to face difficulties they did not ask for, they do not deserve.   Brought together, sharing their issues, they are stronger.  We are stronger.

   So keep that small lucky stone in your pocket.  That smooth worrystone close by, where you can reach out for it.  And when you hold your little rock, remember a veteran.  They are our jewels beyond price.

Not To Keep

             by Robert Frost

They sent him back to her. The letter came
Saying... And she could have him. And before
She could be sure there was no hidden ill
Under the formal writing, he was in her sight,
Living. They gave him back to her alive
How else? They are not known to send the dead
And not disfigured visibly. His face?
His hands? She had to look, and ask,
"What was it, dear?" And she had given all
And still she had all they had they the lucky!
Wasn't she glad now? Everything seemed won,
And all the rest for them permissible ease.
She had to ask, "What was it, dear?"

"Enough,"
Yet not enough. A bullet through and through,
High in the breast. Nothing but what good care
And medicine and rest, and you a week,
Can cure me of to go again." The same
Grim giving to do over for them both.
She dared no more than ask him with her eyes
How was it with him for a second trial.
And with his eyes he asked her not to ask.
They had given him back to her, but not to keep.