The picnic we attended in 2001, for Veteran's day

I took my mother to a Senior Citizen’s picnic, in Wyoming, shortly after 9/11. And, in honor of all Veteran’s, I would like to post what I wrote after that picnic. Thanks, guys and gals, everywhere.

I went to a picnic today. There was Cowboy Poetry, Fiddlers, Cake walks, Games, square dancing and a Hay Ride. It could have been in any town, U.S.A. All it lacked was a gazebo with red, white and blue bunting; we even had two trombones. What made this picnic notable were the people and that there is a war on.

I look around at men who fought in World War II and women who rolled bandages and worked in mills in the forties but, I do not see people with grey hair. I do not see people stooped, carrying oxygen or walking assisted with canes. I do not see gentlemen of 80 or women of 79. What I see, as the two trombones began to slide out the "A- train" and a sprightly fellow begins to dance by himself, is a dance floor full of men in uniform and women, hair spit curled around their foreheads and rolled pompadour style, slim waistlines accented by tailored dresses with ever such a slight fullness to the skirt. Quantities of cloth are rationed, you know. A war is on.

I imagine that people step out of the tent for simple pleasures: a walk in the park, skating, listening to Judy Garland sing, in Meet Me in St. Louis and a rare treat of a hamburger. Nuevo Cuisine is unheard of. There is no time for pretense. There is a war on.

As the music slows and dashing young men put a gentle arm around slim waistlines, Glenn Miller plays Serenade in Blue. Lovers cling to one another, fearing to speak of the future, avoiding mention of upcoming absences. They will soon join the war that is on.

I am sucked back to 2001, as we stand to say the Pledge of Allegiance and sing God Bless America. We are silenced, haunted by the loss of more than 2,000 souls. We fear to speak of the USS Theodore Roosevelt aircraft carrier battle group, speeding from our shores, and of upcoming absences. We cling to one another, treasuring each moment we have. A war is on.