Armistice Day
The Great War ended at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month Anno Domini 1918. All who know me know that by my preference for Armistice Day over Veterans Day no disrespect is meant to the brave men and women who have served under the Star-Spangled Banner in the defense of liberty. John McCain or John Kerry, Bob Kerrey or Bob Dole, Oliver Stone or Oliver Wendell Holmes, those who survived and returned home to make sure the sacrifice of their comrades-in-arms was not in vain (and we pay tribute to our honored dead on Memorial Day) deserve a Veterans Day, but we do ourselves a grave disservice if we allow it, as we have, to overshadow and obscure Armistice Day. At our great peril do we let flit out of mind the unfathomable tragedy of the War to End All Wars. Steel yourself and stare square in the eye the horror of the Great War - the trenches, the gas, the tanks, the moonscape of no man's land - lest we forget.

Living Memory.

"In Flanders Fields"
by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.



The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Charles Ives, "He Is There!" from The Pity of War: Songs and Poems of Wartime Suffering (T.L.A.M.)

Lest we forget.