I started chatting with a distinguished looking man in the donut line this morning. (Dark suit, red tie, wire glasses.) Turns out he’s the manager of Rosehill Cemetery. I go by it all the time. “Are there many vets there?” I ask, thinking of today.“ “We actually have quit a few from the Civil War.” He seemed proud.
I’ve been so busy thinking of our recent tragic wars, I forgot to include this one.
As I was leaving the lot, I noticed a marvelous black vintage car. Perfect condition. The Cemetery Man approached. “Great car!”, I smiled with joy. “It’s a 1953 Buick sedan,” he beamed.
Vets. Buicks. Yes, it’s a day for memories.
Memories and fathers, for the most part. And I know your dad comes to mind, Joan. Be well.
ReplyDeleteLove the story about Cemetery Man and
ReplyDeletethe big Buick. It could be a short story and I think you should write it! I remember those Buicks, like big tanks rolling down the highway. Thanks for the memories. Kathy