Today, at least in the United States, is Memorial Day.
It’s a day that, in theory, anyway, is set aside to honor our dead, especially those who served in the military. In practice, it marks the first day of summer, a three day weekend, and barbecues. Lots and lots of barbecues.
The Memorial Days of my memory involve getting up early and heading to the small cemetery to watch a ceremony honoring the veterans. At least, I think that’s what we were doing. Generally, my eyes would have swollen shut because of allergies before the day was over.
Fortunately, through a combination of modern allergy medication, rye-cutting technology, and probably just plain growing out of the worst of my respiratory allergies (and into food allergies. Grrr.) I was able to visit the Leamington Cemetery twice this week, and still come out both breathing and seeing.
I posted about the first visit already, but when I went again, I was dragging Sis and her family, as well as Dad along. We put flowers on the graves of both Claybourne Elder and my Great-Grandparents, then I wandered around to see who else I could find. To start, the graves of my great-great grandparents are right next to my great-grandparents. I always knew that, but had never thought about it.
While we were there, my grandparents showed up to decorate my great-grandparent’s graves. Grandpa told the story about when his grandfather died. He was six years old, and remembered them bringing him up to the cemetery on a hay wagon. It was January, always the coldest time of the year, but that year was especially bad. The ground was so frozen they couldn’t dig a hole to bury him, so they used dynamite to blast the hole.
Living in a small town totally rocks.
I also found the graves of third-great grandparents on my mother’s side, Lars and Sidsel Nielson
Lars and Sidsel represent the most recent of my ancestors to emigrate to the United States. They were living in Denmark, with Lars’s brother and sister-in-law. The brother and S-I-L heard about a meeting where Mormon missionaries were going to speak, and they were curious. They asked Lars to come along.
Lars agreed, because, as he puts it, he knew the bible, and he knew at the last days, there would be wolves in sheep’s clothing. He was going to expose the falseness of these Mormons.
The brother and S-I-L were baptized Mormon after that first meeting. It took Lars two more.
The story goes that after Lars was baptized, the preachers in Copenhagen hated to see him coming, because here was this Mormon tailor who knew the bible better than they did, and he could often confound them.
This guy shows all the characteristics of the ornery side of the family–the ones who are descended from him.
I thought the potential roommate didn’t show up, so I got frustrated and headed back down to my parent’s house, where I got a call wondering if I forgot the time. Apparently one of us did. I was expecting her at 2:30. I waited until 3:30. I don’t know what time she actually showed up.
The work on the trailer is nearly finished–all that’s left is cosmetic. It looks wonderful–much better than even when my parents brought it home.
I wish I could have done more to help. I spent the morning chasing E and G, and then got hit by a bad stomach bug, and spent the afternoon in the bathroom and laying down. I’m feeling better, but I still don’t feel well enough to brave a drive home.
So off to bed tonight, then in the morning–well, we’ll see.