Columns

It almost is embarrassing me to admit that for most of my life Veteran’s Day has been more of an amorphous interruption of the mail and bank schedules that I had to endure than any sort of sanctioned holiday.

School was in session, and there was no paid respite from work. Veteran’s Day was just sort of there, a poor, red-numbered step holiday to its more famous cousin in May, Memorial Day.

This is the week for one of those winding, emotional and reflective cruises down the turbulent tributaries that feed those endless eddies stirred by a life-changing event.

We don’t simply glance over our shoulders at the rapids that changed our course, but we stare at it, consume it anew and bring from our deep-sealed memories the emotions, the adrenalin that carried us through those waters to our anchorage of today.

On a sunny Friday afternoon, the damnations of work behind you and the blessings of a weekend settling large on your horizon, you find yourself winding down a road that is as familiar as the scars in your own skin, one whose hills, dales and dusty side trails you can see perfectly with your eyes shut and nothing but motion to plot its passage.
Each fencepost is a milestone of your journey, a dot on your mind’s map so large and bold that you can name generations of people – their nicknames, their offspring, their ancestors – who lived behind them.

If the Mayans were correct, this will be my last column. As I’m sure you’ve heard, some say that the ancient Mayans predicted that the world would end on December 21, 2012.

With the benefit of hindsight, some pundits have noted that it’s now obvious that the world can’t go on without Twinkies.