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The Roses and Thorns of Life

I have an unexplained connection to Anne Frank, ever since I was a little girl.   Last  night, while scanning through some obscure television channels, I happened upon “The Diary of Anne Frank.”   So, instead of the Tonys, I sat watching it again.   For some reason, there is compulsion to watch, to remember, it seems to come from the depths of memory or soul.   I wrote this blog a couple of years ago, but today is Anne’s birthday, a good day to share it again.

August 4, 1944 ~~ Anne Frank is captured.

Today’s blog breathes life into a memory stored for nearly half a century.
It is a moment I have never forgotten; it is “written” in my heart, perhaps the reason I write today.
It is the memory of a little girl and her mother who went to the local MacDonald’s for lunch one afternoon.

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The Roses and Thorns of Life

I have read several stories in the past weeks…..soldiers coming home.   No, not from Iraq, Afghanistan, but from WWII.

DNA has been the tool to identify remains long since decomposed into dust and bone.  It’s bittersweet.   Mothers and fathers who themselves have died, will not weep at a son’s gravesite.   Perhaps some nieces and nephews who never knew the boy……just the memory told to them before the last of his generation left this earth.

I have a farmhouse in Gettysburg.   Beneath the fields, many still remain unknown.   We now have monuments to remember those who fought, each thinking his side was right.   Sadly, those monuments are being torn down.   It is my hope that history’s truths, the ugly, the heroic, the rights, the wrongs, will always be taught and those who sacrificed will all be known in this way.  They gave so much…

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