Memorial Weekend, Memorial Life

Not everyone can watch a Memorial Day Parade from their front porch. I realize that. 

But that's what I did this sunny Sunday afternoon. 

It helps that I am far-sighted, for we are the 7th house down from the avenue where the fire engines, high school band and bagpipers walked down at parade-pace. I watched them through a break in the trees while our neighborhood folks stood in front of their houses or walked their children down for a close-enough-to-touch experience. 

But here I sat on our porch and reveled in, once again, living 1940's style in my Mayberry-esque town. And at the parade's end, two ice cream trucks jangled and calliope'd past, but then, they're part of the usual any-warm-day parade.

It's Memorial Day Weekend and I'm remembering all that we are supposed to on this day.

And more.

I've a feeling that, in Heaven, God will ask me if I paused to remember His extreme goodness, the people He sent to inspire me and His blessings which He freely fluttered down like confetti. He just might ask, "Did you notice each one? Each answer to prayer? Each response which came, sometimes, even before you prayed? Did you remember to give thanks?"

And more than anything, I long to say a truthful, grateful, "Yes." I don't want a single blessing to go unnoticed, unappreciated or unseen so I am on Blessing Watch. Always. All days.


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