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Remembering Arlington

5/29/2017

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We sleep safe in our beds because  rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm. ~ George Orwell
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In watching the annual TV coverage of the Memorial Day ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery this morning, I'm remembering how this place took hold of my soul a very long time ago . . .

​On a 7th grade class field trip to Washington DC, Arlington was a compulsory part of our educational itinerary . . . along with a tour of the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, the Smithsonian Institute, and a few  other vague and hazy stops. I remember the austere sterility of the White House, standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with friends and looking out over The Mall, and the incongruity of a pair of Ruby Red Slippers displayed behind glass in the Smithsonian (oh, the whimsy of American history) . . . but over the years and all these years later, Arlington National Cemetery is what I remember most with vivid clarity . . .

​There were neat rows  -- rows and rows of bone-white epitaphs stretching out in every direction . . . great lines of marbled, uniform tombstones , intertwined between pink cherry blossoms and stretched infinitely for miles and miles over hills and valleys.  Old soul that I was, even as a thirteen year old girl distracted by thirteen year old girl preoccupations (think bashfully holding hands with the thirteen year old boy beside me on the tour bus and pondering what I would wear for the hotel dance later),  I was able to disengage from the adolescent chatter to internalize the sobriety of where I was -- the significance.

It was terrible, beautiful, and tragic. These people died for me, I thought. Thousands and thousands . . . maybe millions of men died, sacrificed their lives, so that we -- I -- could be free and red, white, and blue.

It was a simple, noble, and enduring concept. I don't remember how quickly my thoughts turned back to the shy hand-holding, but those haunting rows of glory white sacrifice had become a part of me.

​On a different day in a different season . . . I had thought that the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier Ceremony had made a lesser impression. But when -- over three decades later -- we had opportunity to be in Washington DC to watch our daughter run the Marine Corps Marathon, I told my husband, an Air Force veteran with a patriotic soul "You have GOT to see this" . . . as if I'd been there yesterday . . .

​It was October 31st in 2011. The entire east coast had been blasted overnight out of quintessential Autumn and had awakened to a skyfall of snow. By late afternoon, it had turned to a cold onslaught of steady sleet. We stood under an umbrella, under the heavy patter and amidst the blowing leaves. It was cold . . . bitter, bone cold. But we stood in that sobering cold in reverent silence with a hundred other patriots and watched the faithful sentinels step in cadence without flinching, watched the soldier transfer his duties to the next soldier, listened to the haunting melody of Taps . . .

and have never been so moved to understand the sacrifices of the men that lay beneath those tombstones . . . have never since been so thankful and honored to brace ourselves against the cold.

​Since 1937, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier has been honored and guarded uninterrupted, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

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    I'm Aerin Leigh.  I'm a once upon a time teacher and a forever reading cheerleader.  I'm a writer, a reading specialist, and a a believer in the power of words.  I've seen a little of the world, but my first love is Michigan.  I live here with my husband and two spoiled Boxer dogs, Merlot and Riesling.  We're happy empty nesters and we spend a lot of time in our hot tub. . . to stay warm.  Winter is my solace, but Summer has been my teacher and my friend.  I'm an occasional runner, and a constant connoisseur of wine and friendship and gel nails.  Anything that lights up is magic to me . . .  like fireflies, the glow of a storybook moon, Christmas lights under the stars, and my Colorado grandbabies' faces when they see me on Skype.  I embrace quirky things like Feng Shui and Acupuncture and prayer . . . because they just might work.  I'm a survivor of much and of many, but I leave my heart wide open.  My children are my role models, my current passion is possibility, and my God is good. 


    Come follow my leap of faith journey . . . There'll probably be a lot of crazy, but you just might get to witness a soft landing.  
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