memorial day 2015

It wouldn't be a Memorial Day if we didn't participate in a parade, of course. My apologies for this being a few days late but my computer has been monopolized by two different Spanish projects (Spanish teachers: "¿Qué pasa con eso?") and some technical difficulties with downloading the pictures.

We were blessed with a lovely day for a parade. Warm, but with a nice breeze.

The population of the club is shifting to mostly-high-school kids now, and they have their own organizations to march in. FFA, marching band, Boy Scouts, sports teams.

So our club was at a slightly low ebb this year, but the ones who came were enthusiastic. Turns out I didn't need to be worried about Primo. He was there, with Dusty yet again. His girlfriend even joined in to supplement the numbers a little, donning a 4-H t-shirt so she could pass, and everyone seemed to have a good time.

Except Snickerdoodle the rabbit, who was decidedly not enthusiastic and in fact, ready to go home after the first block. Much like her owner, who is transitioning into the self-consciousness of the teenage girl and after years of being in the parade, and was not sure she wanted to be there at all. Hard to watch the girls go through this stage, from enjoying life and not caring what others think, to caring so acutely all of a sudden that it interferes with their ability to have a good time. She did enjoy the shouts all along the parade route of "A rabbit!" "Look at the bunny on the wagon!" "Oh, how cute, see the rabbit?" so there was that.

Our ever-patient float driver and his trusty truck, back in service after a year off. His patients get quite a kick out of seeing him in this role. He got almost as many shout-outs as the rabbit.

Near the end-ish of the parade route, stuck for a bit on the millpond bridge, with the mill to our left, and the parade behind us all the way down Main Street (of course, what else would it be called?). The store where I hold many of my knitting classes is visible on the second floor of the mill, with the lamps in the windows.

This kid managed to continue his eight-year streak of not walking the route.

It wouldn't be a Memorial Day if we didn't, well, remember.

A reputedly lovely ceremony is held every year at the end of the parade, at the war memorial plaque in front of the local schools. Unfortunately we have yet to attend, because hot, stressed animals cannot wait to be returned home after the rigors of parade participation. One day, I will be able to go, no doubt the same year that I will be sad to see our parade days come to an end.