Memories on Memorial Day

I am one of the lucky ones. I fondly knew three of four of my great-grandparents and all four of my grandparents. Yesterday I visited 5 cemeteries in the beautiful Ruby Valley. I watched my dad, a member of the American Legion, shoot off his gun in honor of the veterans, 3 times at each cemetery. It was chilling and touching, and even tear provoking.

At the Sheridan cemetery I visited my paternal grandparent's graves. I didn't stay there long, but their memory played in my head all day long. I recalled Grandpa Bill sitting in his chair at the kitchen window watching the birds; feeding the crows; his arm tattoo he acquired in the army; his voice as he called my brother, his namesake, "Michael William." I can see Grandma Rene hobbling around the kitchen waiting on everyone hand and foot; pouring orange juice and serving red jello; asking us to help her find the lost key to things we wanted to get into. Her waking us to go "peeper" in the middle of the night; her petticoat; the way she twisted her diamond earings on her ears, her hands.

At Taylor Hill in Alder I visited my maternal great-grandparents graves. I had not been there since my great-grandmother's funeral in 1997. It was an overdue visit. Once again, it wasn't long that I was there, but I thought about them all day. I kept playing in my head the games of casino my brother and I played with Grandma and Grandpa Mag; picking raspberries in their garden; their tulips and peonies; how Grandpa held his cards for everyone to see and was still able to win; sneaking into the deep freeze and looking for Grandma's cookies if the cookie jar was empty; having tea with her; her creamed potatoes, peas and carrots; grandpa sleeping in the chair, his suspenders; his warm smile.

I didn't make it to the Point of Rocks cemetery where my Grandma and Grandpa Red are laid to rest. My Grandma Red was one of a kind. She was wise and funny and old. I remember her laugh, the smell of her house, the ranch we loved to play at, the stories of her big family and tough upbringing; her afghans, pillowcases and doilies; following her from Sheridan to Twin as she drove perfectly (at age 99), her love for God.

Grandpa Red is the only one I didn't have the privilege of knowing - but he did get to know me for a few year. He died in 1979 when I was 3.

Here are a few pictures of my cherished grandparents. They are certainly missed!

Great Grandpa Vic and Great Grandma Martha with me and my brother Mike

Great Grandpa Ralph and Great Grandma Clara with me as a baby

Grandpa Bill and me on my wedding day. He looked so handsome!

Grandma Rene with me and my cousin Trevor