"The sacrifice of life on that blood soaked field on the fatal third [of July] was too awful for the heralding of victory, even for our victorious foe, who I think, believe as we do, that it decided the fate of our cause. No words can picture the anguish of that roll-call—the breathless waits between the responses. The "Here" of those who, by God's mercy, had miraculously escaped the awful rain of shot and shell was a sob—a gasp—a knell—for the unanswered name of his comrade." Major Gen. George E. Pickett, CSA
Heat. Blood. Smoke. NOISE. Man oh man oh man, how can we even imagine the pain, the thundering terror, the pure, sheer bravery experienced and exhibited that rotten day at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania? Sublime in its nastiness. I could blather on, but no. Just tipping my hat to soldiers, then and now.
Let there be peace on earth & let it begin with those who send young folks to war.
With that, away I go to display my Stars & Stripes out front, come in and fix a glass of iced tea. Close the windows against the heat of just another summer day, made possible by a multitude of miracles.
A cranky, quirky, funny dame, a cronette, divided in demeanor between fizzy optimism and dispirited melancholy (I treat the latter with new projects, the latest being an early-18th century gentleman's coat that I sewed for myself out of a length of blue denim, decorated w/ brass buttons.) An entertaining speaker I am, to many a gym or library full of students, a fine writer about dead people and things historical, a middling harmonica player and illustrator of many a book, 40 or so & counting.