Wildflower Writes

Fireworks have marked celebrations for centuries.  First there’s the zoom of them shooting into the air, the brilliant explosion of light and color, and then the big BOOM as the sound catches up.  A fireworks display always reminds me of that line in the National Anthem: “and the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air…”  It reminds me that on the other side of the world, there are folks who may be viewing fireworks that aren’t pretty or exciting, but a matter of life and death.  Throughout the history of our country, men and women have voluntarily put their lives on the line in the fight for freedom.  Their families, too, have paid the price for independence, for unity, for democracy.  The national anthem was written by Frances Scott Key, who was detained by the British during the war of 1812.  As they attacked Fort McHenry, he sought a glimpse of their emblem of freedom, the American flag.  After witnessing the battle throughout the n...

Memorial Day is one of those anti-holidays. It’s not exactly a happy celebration, although the picnics and parties can be fun. As I celebrate Memorial Day, even if it’s only by taking a day off work, I think about my grandfather. He was a proud veteran from the Korean War. He didn’t talk much about his experiences, but I remember pictures of him in his uniform. He passed away a few years ago. At his funeral he received the traditional military honors. As part of our celebration in church today, we sang a song called “Freedom’s Never Free” by Phillips, Craig & Dean. The first verse goes like this: Standing on a hillside Where the river meets the sea White crosses without number Line the fields of peace And each one a silent witness Staring back at me Every cross a story Of another place in time Where young men thought it worthy To give their life for mine And for the sake of honor Left their dreams behind And for the price they paid I'm forever in their debt Their memory will no...

Is there anything more American than baseball? As I sit behind center field, awaiting the start of opening day for the 51st year of Osolo Little League, I’m taken back to some of the happiest moments of my childhood. My dad coached softball before any of his kids were old enough to play. In fact, both my sisters were named after young ladies he coached. We grew up entertaining ourselves by digging in the dirt, running the bases before games, and climbing the bleachers. When I was six, I was finally allowed to play T-ball. We played in jeans then. Even though I was probably just as bored as the other players, I wasn’t a grass picker or a butterfly chaser. I took the game seriously. I put my hands on my knees in a ready stance, and then ran all over the field when someone hit the ball. When it was my turn to bat, I hit the ball and ran as fast as I could. League designations were based on age and not ability then. I played T-ball for three years, and didn’t see a softball until I was nin...