So it is Memorial Day

And, I managed to go to a picnic this year! Yes, most years I sit home alone from work. Twiddling my thumbs. Ok, maybe not really that bad. But, rare are the occasions when I get out to celebrate with the public at large. So, that was nice.

Did you ever have crushes on historical figures? My love for TJ is still going strong (that's Thomas Jefferson to the uninitiated). But, how could it be unabated when he is a ginger boy? I love ginger boys. Even though I was a tiny bit disappointed when I was handling a lock of his hair at a museum I worked at and discovered it wasn't as red as I hoped. Granted, it was two hundred years old and the lights probably weren't the best for catching red highlights. It still amazes me, however, that I was able to touch his hair. What a man!

My first historical crush, however, happened to be on a sweet-looking Confederate soldier named Edwin Francis Jemison. Apparently, I'm not the only one (so that's good, right?). He also in looks reminded me of my first ever crush on a boy my age. (He was our French exchange student and was here and gone before I knew it.) I recently came face-to-face with Edwin while visiting the National Museum of American History in DC. There was his face plastered to the entrance of the "Americans at War" exhibit (or whatever it is really called). Sadly, however, there was no label to identify him once you got in the exhibit and came across another picture of him. He was just some random "Young Confederate soldier". At least I knew.

I will say that they make the best case for peace in that part of the exhibit where they talk about injuries to soldiers. The back wall of the display case is covered with pictures of wounded soldiers. It is quite horrifying and serves as a chilling reminder that not just the dead are the victims of war.

Argh, there's a poem I wish to find, but I seem to have misplaced the cd it is on. Ah, here it is. It is taken from a newspaper that a soldier sent home to his wife during WWII (he was stationed in Italy, she lived in Florida with their baby son).

Far out in the Mediterranean
Many miles from either shore
There's a bomber crew that's sleeping
Neath the mighty waters roar.
No mounds of clay are heaped up oer them
No poppies grow round their graves
But there's a mound for every soldier
In the vastness of the waves.

The rest is silence.