The Mall: Korean War Veterans Memorial

I was very young in 1953, but old enough to hear about the Korean War. Murmurs, phrases. There were no sons on our street old enough to go fight there. And the Dads were too old. We had a black and white TV and I'd hear voices booming out about it when the news was on. But that all faded from my mind, and I don't even remember ever studying this war in school. It was a thing of the past.

All that changed when I flew to South Korea in 2002 with my husband to attend the FIFA Men's World Cup Championship tournament. I hadn't really wanted to go to Korea. With no sense of the language we were relying on the good graces of the citizens, our guide book with phrases we'd studied, and the tour buses and trains to get to the various venues. During one break between matches we heard about a tour to the DMZ. Just thinking of it made me nervous. I didn't want to go. But I did. Something told me I should be there. We rode the bus through long miles of rice paddies and hilly country with tea bushes and grapes sculpturing the steeps.

The demilitarized zone was full of soldiers, barracks, thoughts of war, & precise changing of possession of the building that housed a table which was divided in half lengthwise by an imaginary line so that one half was in the South and the other in the North. I didn't know all of that before we visited. When we arrived we were ushered into a theatre room and then saw a movie. It educated us about the history of the Zone. How a soldier was killed because he was hacking off a branch of a tree that blocked the South's view of the North. Killed with the ax. Of North Koreans being shot & killed when they tried to run to the South across the bridge. How the North Koreans had created an entire ghost city that looked industrious and beautiful across the river where workers were bussed in each day to work the fields before returning home once again. It was to entice folks to cross into a prosperous looking North.




We were warned and tutored in how to behave before venturing outside close to the demarcation line. Number one, we weren't to raise our hands above our heads, nor shout, nor make large gestures with our hands and arms. And two, we were to follow without fail those precise instructions, entering the Observation Tower when told to, and then the shared building where when inside we could step into North Korea. Some fellow standing next to me in the Observation Tower evidently didn't think much of these commands and absentmindedly raised his arm above his head. I didn't appreciate this as I was standing right next to him. I told him to lower it, nervously admonishing him because he was putting us all in jeopardy -- even though it made me feel like an old school marm. We had to wait longer than usual because there was an unusually large group touring from North Korea and they got first dibs on the building.



I asked one US soldier accompanying us what it was like there. he said, "Lonely. I've only been here a week. I get hazardous duty pay here. There's not much to do. There is a golf course. The North Koreans play really loud music late at night to disrupt our sleep."

This trip had a huge impact on me. Life changing. It led us to the Korean War Museum in Seoul a few days later. Life-sized panoramas of war and village scenes brought the devastation home. And they had a copy of the music that blared from the loud speakers recreating that harrowing sound of horses hooves galloping right at you at the So. Korean side. We spent most of the afternoon there taking everything in. Educating ourselves on what it was like to have lived and still live in this divided country.



Upon approaching this memorial in DC so far away from the Pacific Ocean, I was struck immediately by the realism here and the representation of Americans intermingled with Korean countrymen fighting side by side in miserable circumstances. Life size figures staking out territory with war worn gaunt faces looking hard for any movement that might be the enemy.

So many Americans wonder why the US was there. Now I know. And I found this dedication at the Memorial:

OUR NATION HONORS
HER SONS AND DAUGHTERS
WHO ANSWERED THE CALL
TO DEFEND A COUNTRY
THEY NEVER KNEW
AND A PEOPLE
THEY NEVER MET
1950 KOREA 1953

The Mall: WWII

We wanted to see two newer Memorials that weren't there the last time we'd gone to the Mall in 1996. An uncle I'd never met, husband of my mom's second oldest sister, Emily, had died with his plane when it was shot down during WW II. Ejner Lovig (of Danish descent) had been my Aunt's boyfriend in high school, and they'd been married ten years when he died. They'd never had children. She never remarried. [To be honest part of that was due to the widow's pension she received that augmented her income as a secretary. She did find love again.]

We found Ejner's name listed both from the National Archives and the ABMC Cemeteries - US Army Air Forces -- entries, and surprisingly one from my mother. I know she'd sent at least one donaton for this memorial and mentioned Ejner when she did. His name is listed as Ejnerogrein Lovig by her and I can only conjecture that -ogrein might have been a middle name?? A figment of her imagination??? I'll never know since my mother had Alzheimer's Disease when she sent the donation(s). I believe he'd been the bombardier since the pilot and another crew member were able to bail out and survived, and also from what fuzzy memories I have from family stories.


I just got the shivers. I looked him up right now via the memorial site and found that his name was a hyperlink to more information. As I read it I'm reacting with emotion and tearing up. He was a Staff Sargeant in the 707 Bomber Squadron, 447th Bomber Group, Heavy. Air medal with Three Oak Leaf Clusters. He's buried in Neupre, Belgium, in the Ardennes American Cemetery. Dead a little less than three months before my brother's birth.



I like this Memorial. It's classic so not as evocative as the Vietnam Wall. Yet it seems cohesive, the way they worked in a wall of Gold Stars with its own reflecting pool within the confines of the arc of State wreathed pillars, the Atlantic and Pacific entry towers with fabulous bronzed birds hovering above as you go through, and the central pool with spraying water.

The Mall past and present: The Wall

I do remember feeling quite moved by the Vietnam Memorial the first time I encountered it. I don't exactly remember when that was! But neither does my husband so I don't feel quite so bad.

It couldn't have been in our family trip from Illinois to the East Coast in 1981 because it wasn't finished then. What I don't recall is if I went there when in DC for a LLL International Conference back in 1995. For sure we were stopped there in late July of 1996 when we stopped in DC on the way to Atlanta, GA, to watch our first US Men's Olympic Soccer match (against Argentina) in the electric atmosphere of a roaring color-ladened crowd packed into RFK Stadium.

I remember being drawn in to the Wall as I descended into the earth. Well, it felt that way. Walking down the crease in the ground along the expanding Wall elicited feelings of not quite doom or dread, but of solemnity, accompanied by memories of the turmoil the war caused when I was in college of protests, overturned campus police cars and the Kent State shootings and my own strong reaaction against war in general. But more importantly it helped me reflect on the newer perspective I'd gained with time as I realized that those who died while serving weren't war mongers but young men who'd been drafted or those who wanted to server our country or enlisted looking for a way to a better life. And the injuries and loss of all those who died and the impact on their family, friends and communities.

So this time it was a lighter day. Still we witnessed a poignant scene. Brought to the Wall to gather some info to show I'd really been there, right at the very panel the GPSr had guided us to were three adults, a man and two women. At first I'd barely noticed them. Too busy counting. Then I heard a question, Are you serving?" asked a woman who looked close to my age with an official-looking yellow cap of a volunteer on her head. "Yes, Ma'am," came the very respectful answer from the fellow with that telltale haircut. "Which branch?" "Marines, Ma'am." The two women had something to say. "Just commissioned yesterday! As a Captain." "Is that right?" came the volunteer's reply as she turned toward the man again. She then approached him, reached up and planted ever so gently a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." It was so much more than words can describe. The joy she exuded, the pride, the full knowledge of what he'd committed to with all the sacrifice and life-changing events ahead of him. And might even had already with being commissioned at that rank.

Even though I'd seen it before the Wall still carried quite an impact with the leavings of loved ones at the foot of the panels, the searching, the rubbings being taken of the names in the careful interactions with the inscribed black granite.

Teaism

We saw a beautiful window with tea sets and items in it on the way from the subway to the first geocache location. My daughter and I lingered at the window relishing the colors. Much later we all made our way back to it. The perfect stop for a quiet rest before heading off to Zeds, the Ethiopian restaurant.

Is it still November?

A friend of our family has been staying with us for four months. He came to do a clinical rotation as a med student at the local teaching hospital. Last week he surprised us with the announcement that he'd made arrangements for my husband and me to travel with him to Washington, DC. He told me this just after I'd walked in the door from my day at work after a long and hectic two weeks.

Let's see. Two weeks before we'd unexpectedly flown to DC for one day to witness the NE Revs blow the MLS championship match for the third year in a row. The day before that my family had thrown me a wonderful birthday party filled with friends and food. And they cleaned and tided the house all day Friday afternoon before that.

Then Thanksgiving week brought us to a family wedding in Pennsylvania. My car recorded a 1300 mile round trip. We had fun with my new camera on the ten hour drive home.

So was I ready to hear about traveling some more?

I was so stunned when informed of plane reservations that I simply walked away speechless.

I don't know what KSz thought of that. Funny thing was just before my daughter arrived for my b-day she'd mentioned on the phone that I was coming down to DC in two weeks, right?

No. I don't know how you got that idea, but no, I'm definitely not going to DC again so soon.

Sure, in two weeks, right?

No.

She dropped it. When KSz told her he'd made the arrangements she assumed that meant that he'd told us about it. Nope.

I was so stunned that I recoiled from the idea every time it entered my brain. I couldn't fathom another trip.

I wanted down time. I wanted to do nothing and go no place. The tickets were bought. What could I do?

I went. And although I doubt I slept more than 8 hrs total the whole weekend, I had a great time. That's because he finally said the right words. Can't you go geocaching down there?

Ah,yes, there are virtual geocaches all around the Mall.

I was finally convinced it was possible for me to go, and maybe even enjoy it.

mythological creature

You Are a Centaur

In general, you are a very cautious and reserved person. However, you are also warm hearted, and you enjoy helping others in practical ways. You are a great teacher, and you are really good at helping people get their lives in order. You are very intuitive, and you go with your gut. You make good decisions easily.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

monarch butterflies & old junk cars

Yes, that's what prompted me to let the few milkweed plants grow beside my driveway two years ago. The Monarchs, that is. I used to be able to go out in the field behind my house and find a milkweed with a chrysalis on it for a neighbor's science class and wondered if any would lay eggs on these closer ones.

I love monarchs. One summer about thirty years ago I saw some flying over the house where I lived in the Chicago suburbs. Then I realized they were coming in a steady stream. I lay down on the ground and watched them -- for HOURS. A column of butterflies several feet wide stayed right overhead. It was one of those most special happenstances in life where if you hadn't happened to step out the door right that moment, you might have missed it all. That was the same summer when everyone else who lived there had gone away for a week or so. I had the place to myself and discovered that for several days in a row a spider made a huge web between two bushes right across from each other in front of the front door. Each day the previous web was gone and a new one spun. And it was huge. I felt that all this was happening just to reward me for spending some quiet content days with myself.

Monarch migrate from Mexico up North to the US and back again. Well, it's after the next generations that they return to Mexico. I saw a photo in National Geographic once of a large tree in Mexico so totally covered with butterflies that it was wrapped in orange.

So last year after returning from the World Cup in Germany I found that many more milkweed were growing. Okay, I hoped, maybe there is a chance that a monarch will find one.

Nope. Not one.

I then read that they like to return to the same area. And MY area is evidently not close enough to the field right behind my house.


So today I was outside doing everything but checking this area where the milk weeds grow. This isn't a happy story about monarchs in my yard since the milkweed isn't even showing yet. Maybe it won't even grow this year.

I'd struggled through making sense of those crazy peony circle things to support the future flower-laden stems and was planting a few more annuals and some perennials and filling a new pot with soil and plants.

As I turned away from one bed I saw that the entire side where the milk weed grows was overrun with berry brambles -- prickers I call them -- and Virginia creeper. Together they were drowning out the rugosa roses. The roses that somehow have managed to fight back and not to totally succumb after being crushed and broken when some tree guys working for the power company took the grey birches down.

A few winters ago the birches were heavy laden with wet winter snow, draped over and pressing down on the power line that goes into our house. We had gotten very tired of running outside after grabbing the longest thing we could find to poke up at the branches to unencumber them. The tree guys were out and when I called the electric company they happened to be right in our neighborhood. Fast response.

Now that the trees are gone letting in more sun, all sort of things have crept in. And not lovely things at all. It looks nasty and ugly there. One thing is a regiment of these green things (I used to know their name) that remind me of a plant near the Fort Josef geocache in Mainz on the Rhine in Germany. Before the trip when I was looking for possible caches to find, I was using one of those on-line translator services to translate from German to English. There were warnings about a plant that if you touched it, left you not only with raised vesicles on you skin, but feeling itchy.

I deduce the ones in my yard are related. Several years ago I discovered while pulling them out without gloves on (or maybe I did have on gloves, but my forearms weren't covered) I had this nasty eruption on my arms that evening. If you catch these plants early, before they are tall and stiffer, they come out easily and with no skin reaction.

So I found myself outside for much longer than anticipated pulling and yanking at the vines. And the green things.

If I'd ignored this much longer I would have had a real problem when I finally got around to calling the fellow to remove the old junk car from the driveway. The vines were making there way UNDER it - at least 15 separate strands were well under it. In one leap my mind envisioned the entire car encased in them by summer's end.

That whole side of the yard seems to be turning into an old abandoned secret place. But not at all a pretty garden. In among the trees that separate our yard from our western neighbor's is an old pile of rotting sawn tree logs left from a poplar taken down a good eight years ago, I think. And everything that's grown in all the chips the tree guys shot in there. It would have cost so much more for them to cart all that away. But the creeper seems to have thrived in the no longer visible chips. Previous years I've spent hours yanking it down and clipping it off from it's roots to save a few of the trees. And grapes vines joined in to wind their way skyward as well.

I've decided the car has to go this week. It served its purpose for a year or two. It was a $300 Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra that I bought from a neighbor for my younger son to drive. And our Japanese friends' daughter used it as well for 10 months. It was the one bad purchase of a used automobile that I've made. Why? On the back there is a small chrome remnant of the script that used to say Oldsmobile. "...mobile" My older son's ex-gf christened it with the perfect name. It stuck. The Ghettomobile.

Turns out that it had been parked on a street in Chicago. Right place, wrong time. Someone in a gunfight had ducked down behind it shielding himself, and had managed to shoot his gun leaving not only a crease on the trunk lid, but shattering the back window and embossing the roof with the bullet's impact. Whomever replaced the window did a lousy job. It leaks. But not in an obvious way. After it rains the head liner hangs down bowed with the weight of saturation. The back seat can be damp. And the salesman that used to own before my neighbor it must have thumped his body down into the driver's seat over and over again leaving a dip so deep we had to fill it with a pillow. None of this did I realize when I told her I'd buy the car.

Now all that car has done is sit on perfectly new all season tires for over three years shielding a bunch of junk in front of it: garbage cans, a car top carrier beside the garage, chimney terracotta liner pieces that I thought would make great planters (but seemed to kill whatever I was trying to grow in them), a broken snow shovel left from the first big winter storm. And all those vines stuck onto the asphalt drive. Working their way toward our front walk....

coffe maker advice needed

First of all the REAL story. ;-)

Before last summer during a scant few years when the ground was cold and spring was on its way, we'd get some ants in the kitchen. Briefly.

Last summer while we were in Germany at World Cup Futbol matches ants came into our house in the mud room (which is next to the kitchen) and the person who was staying in our house part of the time, and feeding our cat, put out one of those orange ant trap tins (which did nothing), but didn't move the spot where the cat was fed elsewhere.

So the ants thought they'd found a permanent food source since good ol' Monty never eats the little bits of dried food that break off and fall from his mouth while eating, thereby leaving these tidbits for the ants. Where oh, where is the dog? This never would have happened if Cody were still alive.

After that the ants sort of went away, I thought.

I'd see one or two at a time and spray them with Basic H. I really didn't want to kill them.

I won't forget the time I was in Miami Beach for a LLI cf walking with 2 friends on the boardwalk along the shore. You could tell the exact line where the insecticide spraying had ended. All of a sudden we heard crunching under foot. My pregnant friend started to scream. Cockroaches everywhere. Huge ones. These must be what they call Palmetto bugs, I thought. We walked a bit further, but the crunch was just too disconcerting. So we turned around. And saw that ants had cleared away all the carcasses we'd passed or made. That's when I really realized that ants are useful in nature.

Then I discovered that they'd set up housekeeping IN my house.

Where? In both the soil of my Jade plant that was in the corner on the counter under the kitchen windows and a small miniature violet plant. I'd forgotten to water the plants for a week or two or three and when I did, out poured a stream of ants dragging eggs with them.

After that all got dealt with I thought I was home free. I was -- for LAST year.

Now this spring a small number of ants have made their way in and again, I targeted them and thought okay, soon they'll all be gone. I remind myself that Albert Schweitzer never stepped on ants (did you read the same biography of him that I did in elementary school???) I was cleaning the counter today & picked up some old mail resting on top of the coffee machine. Why I thought that a suitable place to keep these pieces, I have no idea. Probably because the spot I usually keep things that I haven't made up my mind "keep, or throw away?" was spilling over onto the floor.

So I picked them up and looked them over for a fifth, sixth or was it the 100th time (okay, an Easter card from my step-mother -- as a reminder to write to her, a fund raiser envelope to send a donation to the hospital I work for, and, are you ready for this one? A twenty something page 4" by 8 1/4" pamphlet "Coronary artery stent thrombosis." For some reason I thought I should educate myself with this throw away sent to my dh. It's now in the trash.

Ants!!!!

On the papers. Spilling over onto my hand. (And I still feel as though they're all over me.)

Why are they up here? And there were scores of them (no really only ten or fifteen, but they were falling/crawling out from between the pages of one item.) But why here? I emptied the filter with ground beans that dh NEVER takes out until the next time he uses the machine, and thought, "Should I do the run-the-coffee maker-with-cold water-and-vinegar-to-cleanse-it routine?"

That thought was abruptly interrupted by the discovery that ants were not only under the lid of the water chamber, they'd decided to become part of the system that shows how many cups of coffee the amount of water poured in the top will make. Yes, they were all stacked up over an inch deep in the bottom of a narrow tube that fills when you pour in the water. Under the tiny red floater ball. And didn't want to come out.

Can you submerge a coffee maker in water??? I tried to only rinse the chambers and lid. Who knows if water got in by the heating element.


So would you use this coffee maker ever again?