BEING OLD CAN BE NEAT

The other day I was having my breakfast, all by myself since the Voice from the Kitchen had already gone to the office for her daily dose of gainful employment.  There is nothing eminently lofty about that, I know.  What is the point of my remark is that while I was doing this, I remember the freedom that I was celebrating fom the screeching directives of MJT, otherwise known as Mama to me, and "Mina" to just about everyone else who knew her.
You see, I was eating a banana.  Yes, a banana for breakfast.  Totally forbidden in the childhood of the five growing children in the 1 Hartford Street home of the Dion household.  Bananas were too "filling."  I have to use that word because it is the closest word that I can use to translate the French word that we would hear if we tried to eat a banana for breakfast.
So since then I have been thinking of the small joys that I get to celebrate now that I am beyond the age of 7.
Besides bananas for breakfast, I get to eat fish raw; I get to eat fish-head soup; I get to eat kimchee (You know, the smelly pickled cabbage Korean stuff); I get to drink coffee just before going to bed for the night; I get to drink my coffee black, too; I get to go outside barefoot in the rain (a rare delight in Southern California); I get to make my bed when I want to; I get to take as many showers as I want, when I want; I get to wear (or not wear) what I want around the house (and even out of the house); I get to eat one meal a day, you know, the one that starts when I get up and stops when I go to bed; I get to talk the language I want around the house (like English, you know); I even get to eat and watch TV at the same time; I get to eat all the ice cream I want (Yes, even in the Winter); ditto for water melon; I get to wash the dishes when I want; I don't have to wear a tie to church; I don't have to run a family taxi service for my aunts on Sundays; and except for not having to turn off the radio in my room at 9:00 PM sharp, I guess that I have run out of joys that I have now that I am old.  Oh,no, I just remembered, I can talk as long as I want on the telephone.  MJT would be happy though, because at my age I have enough of about 2 minutes, so that isn't much of anything to celebrate.
I hope that some of you get the same little things to smile about as you go through life these days. Heck, you have to have something to keep you going, right?

A NEW CONSTELLATION...HAPPY BIRTHDAY

"...on June 14, 1777, the Second Continental Congress took time from its busy schedule to pass a resolution stating that 'the flag of the United States be 13 stripes, alternate red and white” and that “the union be 13 stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation'.” (History Channel)
I have to admit, very candidly, that I have never been what I consider to be a "flag waver."  But I do have a personal experience that is real.  

The only other flag that I had ever beheld in its "natural" setting was the Canadian Maple Leaf.  Then one day I was on my way to Rome, Italy where I knew that I was going to live for the next four years.  It was a long 14 day boat ride from Boston to Naples.  It never struck me as being significant then, but was we pulled out of Boston harbor on an Italian ship, it was the last time that I was seeing the American Flag for the duration of my stay in Europe.  Once out of Boston, any national insignia that I saw were Italian.
We stopped for a while in the Azores, under the Portuguese flag, of course.
Then we docked in Gibraltar for about eight hours, and what we saw, of course, was the Union Jack.  
On to Palermo and then Naples and then, finally, Rome.  I had started my life under the Green, White and Red with a more than occasional visit to the White and Gold of Vatican City.  
I was treated to three Summers under the Red, White and Blue of France.

Nowhere, no time did I ever feel homesick for Old Glory.  It was a totally non-issue for me.  Never a twitch or pang of longing.  Not even during the heart wrenching week around the assassination of JFK.  It happened in November and school was my top priority.  I had no time for television, especially in a world without satellites, except for one.
The US flag showed for about 20 seconds, but it was just the first act of the spectacle that was to follow and which we awaiting with great intensity.

Three years later, upon touching down in Los Angeles California, emerging from the airliner and setting eyes on the American Flag, it hit me.  I had a connection to make to San Diego, but everywhere that I went, I sought the flag.  I checked every corner of the airport, the chest of every official's uniform, seeking the flag.  I couldn't get enough of it. I was this way for at least a week, maybe more.  It was at this moment that I came to understand the meaning of the national flag.  I haven't forgotten and I never will forget.

Lately we here in the United States have experienced a good dose of ambivalence over our national emblem and the spirit of its meaning.  We have heard some impassioned statements about the meaning of the confederate, "stars and bars" banner.  This has to be the only country in the world where the emblem of recessionary rebellion still finds favor among a goodly slice of the population related to the rebellion.  We have heard some very passionate encomium about the brave and dedicated souls who shed their blood for the rebel cause.  I have to shake my head when I think of this.  Some of the thoughts that I have had run something like this:
     We beat the valiant and dedicated Redcoats, and they don't fly their flag        here.
     The British beat the French and Indians in Canada and neither one of the      valiant and dedicated losers fly their flag in Canada.
     The Canadians have asserted themselves over the British whose flag is          nowhere to be found flying in Canada...not even in British Columbia.
     The indigenous tribes who suffered massacre at the hands of the                    colonists were valiant and courageous but they don't fly their flag(s).
     Vatican City lost plenty of territory in Europe, but it has to                            be satisfied with flying its flag in its own, very own contemporary                  territory.
Losers don't get to fly their flag as a consolation prize for their valor.  They get to live under the flag of the victors or try their valor again, if they dare.

This is the anniversary of the Independence that was captured from the British some 230 years ago.  The British have come to learn that they lost the battle for the part of the world south of the 49th parallel.  They don't get to fly their flag in defiance here.  They won the battle for the territory north of the 49th parallel and they don't even fly their flag there.  The French lost the fight for the same territory and they don't get to fly their flag there, not even in defiant Quebec!

Those who want to continue flying the confederate flag should remember that they are still enjoying the independence and freedom that was won from the British and shared with the rest of the population of the United States.  They also enjoy it with the biggest losers of all, the indigenous peoples who were slaughtered and decimated by the encroachment of the European colonists.  They don't get to fly their flags in defiance of the existing order.

The Stars and Stripes, love it or leave it.  There are a lot of places in the world where you can go and won't have to look at it every day.  

Just a few thoughts from an old guy with defiant French Canadian roots.