Each one has to find his peace from within.
And peace to be real must be unaffected by
outside circumstances.
[Mahatma Gandhi]

1968

Memorial Day has its origins with the American Civil War. Each generation, in the intervening 150 years, has had its own war, and has had to seek its own peace. For me, peace is the operative word.

I study a lot of history, especially about the growth and development of the United States. Most of those histories are about one war or another. I have gleaned the opinion that wars are caused by arrogance, greed, tunnel vision/bigotry and just plain meanness. I abhor war. I’m also not too keen about the people who rush headlong into war.

On Memorial Day, I honor not only the people we have lost because of war, but also the people we have found. The photo above shows my best Navy buddy.

… And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
[William Wordsworth]

Photo by James E. Miller, Willowgreen, Inc.

On the way home from the grocery this morning, a splash of yellow caught my eye. It was the daffodils in Foster Park. We just shed the third snowiest winter on record so the sight of the flowers was doubly welcome.

I stopped to walk among the blooms and thought of all of my friends who need healing. I wish they could have walked with me. It calmed my soul and refreshed my spirit.

And now (as Paul Harvey used to say) here is the rest of the story—or at least the inspiration for this post:

Daffodils
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

About Foster Park from the Fort Wayne, Indiana Parks and Recreation website:

In 1912 Samuel and Colonel David N. Foster and their families donated Foster Park to Fort Wayne. The land extended along the St. Mary’s River for some two miles, including wooded areas. The original wooded section contained 67 acres. Shortly after the addition of that land, the Fosters again made a donation. This time, another 40 acres. This extended the park as far as the Stellhorn Bridge. In the early 1920’s the Park Board purchased 111 additional acres of land making the park an area of 218 acres, and bringing the park to four miles of river bank.  In the large area the Municipal Golf Course and pavilions were and are located. In subsequent years additional land was added making for a total of 255 acres and Foster Park now also includes:swings and other play equipment, tennis courts, trails, floral areas, a replica of Abe Lincoln’s Birth Cabin, and a cable foot bridge among other features.

Forget love—I’d rather fall in chocolate!
[Sandra J. Dykes]

I have recycled some of this post from 2007 and 2009, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about my loved ones. When a person lives in solitude, she sometimes feels like the kid, in the back row in the third grade, who looked in his shoe box and found an old eraser instead of Valentines. Not this year. I’m thinking I might get chocolate. Last week, I joked with my friends at the cafe that I needed to find a sweetheart by Monday since I was in dire need of good chocolate. One called last night to make sure I’d be there for dinner tonight. That can only mean chocolate, right? Nobody can accuse me of being a gold digger, but I’m might just be a chocolate digger.

This paper doll was my mother’s and is more than a hundred years old. The doll always reminded me of a Valentine. She has other dresses and hats, but this one fits today’s weather.

It is an odd thing that Valentine’s Day always makes me think of Mama and Aunt Esther instead of the men who have populated my life. Colored paper and scissors were all those women needed to capture my imagination. They cut out paper hearts and wove them magically together into cards. We made dozens over the years — all different sizes with a variety of weaving patterns.

And to the gentlemen who sent me dear and loving thoughts, thank you for looking past the silver hair and sagging chin to see the young woman who still abides within.

P.S. (on February 15th) I did indeed receive chocolates from my dear friend Rufus. He, our friend Ron and I shared dinner time at the cafe last night and laughed about our favorite comedies. Laughing with friends is almost as good as chocolate.