This is always a bittersweet time for me because it is the anniversary of my son Grey's death 15 years ago. Martin and I had just returned from a trip to Japan, were recovering from jet lag, when very  early---still dark---on that morning, we got the phone call from Germany  telling us of the F-15 crash that had taken his life. Within hours we were packing for Germany, getting emergency expedited passports for a daughter and grandson who had none, plane tickets (Northwest Airlines: Bereavement fare? No ma'am, never heard of such a thing. That'll be $4000)

It is all a bit of a blur. But the memory of him and his too-short life is not. 

This was taken about a year before he died.

But at the same time, Martin and I are celebrating an anniversary---our 30th---and last night had dinner with the friends who introduced us to each other.

Day after tomorrow I head to Maine. I've been de-cluttering my office, which will be re-painted during the summer when I'm gone. And I finished the short story I've been writing (though the assignment was 3000 words, and the word count now is 3,500. OOOPS. Will have to re-think everything, or maybe throw myself on the mercy of the editor.

Son Ben went up to the farm Saturday to take his boat out of the barn and to the boatyard; he sent this photo

The peonies will still be in bloom but I have missed the poppies this year. Of course, poppies are Memorial Day flowers; we know that from the poem:

In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row...

Which brings me back to the beartbreaking loss of so many young men in the military, including my son.

Rest in peace.