Memorial Day

People talk about neglecting their blogs, as though blogs are animate objects which need meals and grooming at regular intervals. Actually, I've written a good many blog entries lately. I just haven't posted them. They include:

• How I love my iPad and want to marry it. Blah blah blah blah.
• A screed about budgeting, accounting, and our household financial affairs.
• Kindergarten and school choice as a class determinant, and how annoying I find the whole thing.
• Helpful suggestions for BP regarding the gulf disaster. (1. Get a time machine. 2. Bone up on similar drilling/environmental disasters. 3. Don't drill.)
• A lengthy, tedious entry on conflict resolution.
• A list of complaints about the other mothers at preschool.

Huh. I don't know about you, but I'm guessing the world is just as well off without any of those seeing the light of day.

I've also been spending all too much time on Facebook. Abusing it, even. It's great for pithy observations about the state of my sprinkler system and the joy of sitting on a pee-free toilet seat.

That probably isn't so fun for the people who are my "friends", though. Imagine getting five to ten updates per day on the state of my worm bin. I'm thinking about ramping it down. As in, posting there less often or not at all. Give somebody else a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Meanwhile, it's Memorial Day here in the U.S., one of those days when I'm confronted with my own ignorance. We're to commemorate U.S. soldiers who died while serving in the military. I feel I should do something, without knowing quite what that something is. Hang an American flag off my porch and pretend a depth of feeling toward the wars that isn't there? Donate to organizations which help veterans? Heaven knows there's going to be a fresh crop with brain injuries and such.

Today I realized that I know little or nothing about my relatives' military activities, other than the fact that both my father-in-law and an uncle served in Vietnam. The uncle came back crazy, foaming at the mouth, and spouting terms like "gook". I could totally see him killing children and forcing himself on young women. My father-in-law came back not crazy. I'm simultaneously fascinated and afraid to look any deeper than that.

What of my grandfathers, I wonder? One was born in 1901, and the other was of similar vintage. I guess that would have made them a little young for WW1 and in their late 30s to early 40s during WW2. Would they have been exempted from drafts for being farmers? More ignorance: I don't know. What was it like for them, living through those periods? I'll never know. That's how it works, I guess: unless we make the effort to record things or talk with people, after a generation or two, the memories are dead. At best, we're left with a few indelible moments. My paternal grandfather will forever be a white-haired blind man gamely shuffling down the street or feeling his way up a ladder to pick cherries, just as my maternal grandfather will always be a mean son of a bitch pointing a rifle at my father. May the latter grandfather rot in hell.

I fear that Memorial Day itself has become a vestigial organ, anticipated mostly for its sale fliers and the opportunity to get out the white shoes. How many people really know what the pre-Gulf wars were about? For that matter, how many of us really know what the Gulf wars were about, beyond the official proclamations?

In some sense, the whole business feels of a piece with voting. More ignorance, more obligation to appreciate the process and participate in order to be a responsible citizen. I spent part of yesterday doing research, trying to dig up dirt on candidates and understand the propositions on California's ballot. It was unpleasant. I feel okay about some decisions, less so about others. Was I responsible and a good citizen? I don't know.

It doesn't seem quite appropriate to wish everyone a happy Memorial Day, because it's about people dying. So, um, enjoy the sweet corn and the barbecue, will you?