Veteran's Day Remembrances: Armistice Day, Poppies, and a trip to Europe where everything that could go wrong, did!
Happy Veteran's Day, American Vets,
which includes
My Dad, several of my uncles and cousins and grandfathers, and many friends.
My partner in life and crime is former military as well, but not US Military.
Still, I thank you all for your service!
This day, 11/11, has a lot of interesting memories for me.
My first recollection is more of Armistice Day, and of older gentleman selling poppies at Coborn's Grocery store, which was the main grocery store in my hometown in Minnesota. I always felt a little afraid of older men, but I remember one day, straggling behind my mother as we walked into the store, there were two older men (at the time, I would have called them "Grandpa Age," which could have been anywhere from mid 50s to 80, for all I know.) One was very gruff and ornery, but the other was so kindly as he pinned the little red poppy to my jacket.
Somewhere along the lines, somewhere in the late junior high or possible early senior high school years, I remember saying "Happy Veteran's Day, Dad!" to my father. He snorted and said, "yeah right." My dad had been in Viet Nam toward the end of the war, in the 70s. He had been drafted at age 22 or 23. He never speaks of it, and would hate me even mentioning it or this paragraph. But I feel it is important for our us to see any and all perspectives about this sort of thing. Once, my brother and I were snooping, (very bad, I know, but it's true!) and we found a purple heart in my Dad's secret box of special things. Years later we confessed and asked him about it. He rolled his eyes and said, "they were handing those things out left and right back then." So I guess we'll never know what it was for? Or maybe in years to come, now that he is getting to "Grandpa Age," we will learn more details.
My other memories of Veteran's Day- aside from Peanuts cartoons- are not about Vets or Veterans but about strange things that happened to occur on this day, 11/11.
So, about ten years ago, (or was it 12 years now?) my ex-boyfriend and I were on a little acoustic tour of gigs in Europe. We played a few gigs in France, and had a lot of time in between them so as to explore. We had rented a Renault Clio and shoved our guitars in the back and hit the road, driving through Western France, down to the sea and Coulioure and Perpignan, into the Pyrenees, visiting Cathar Castle Ruins high in the clouds, and then down into Barcelona.
This particular trip had already been a comedy of errors. I had lost my house key while locking the back door as my sister was picking us up to drive us to the airport to start the whole dang journey. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true! It was early November, the 3rd, and there had been a light dusting of snow in Minneapolis, where I was living at the time. My sister was picking us up very early in the morning, while it was still dark. (What a saint.) As I was locking the back door, I pulled the keys out, and then realized I had forgotten to turn off a certain light in the house and wanted to double check the flames and any electronics I may have left on. Mike, my boyfriend at the time, was already in the car. With the key ring literally still in my hand, I turned back to the door and looked for the key to unlock the door. It was gone. It was not on the key ring. I looked in the door itself. It was not in the door. I looked on the steps, on the ground below. It was nowhere to be found.
Eerie.
I never did find it, either, but of course, by the time we returned to Minneapolis about three and a half weeks later, the ground was frozen and buried beneath a thick pile of snow.
We had a layover in New York, during which we visited some friends of mine. We were going to have lunch with a friend also named Mike, and while we waited for him to finish work, we wandered around Washington Square Park. We got a coffee. Just as I was about to sip my drink, a bird flew by and pooped DIRECTLY INTO THE SIP HOLE of the cup.
Blech.
Fine. No coffee for me, that's okay. We headed over to my friend's office and he laughed when he heard the story and said, "here, have a cup of coffee." He pulled a mug from the company cupboards, filled it with coffee, and handed me the cup. I grabbed the handle of the ceramic mug with a smiley face on it. I remember it had googly eyes glued on to it. Before I even took a sip, the cup itself BROKE COMPLETELY FROM THE HANDLE which I was left holding as the entire cup dropped to the floor.
Ay. ay ay.
And on and on. The whole trip had been like this so far, and now, driving into Barcelona, after having just getting stopped by La Guardia Civilia (and somehow avoiding a search of car, which, as usual with that particular boyfriend, definitely WOULD have yielded a discovery of illegal substances, this time, hash in the jelly jar.) (TWICE with that boyfriend I got pulled over for no reason and ONCE searched, both times with pot in the car, and miraculously, the time we DID get searched by DOGS no less? They didn't find the stash.) (And by the way, and this is 100% true, ask ANY of my ex boyfriends, especially the pot smoking ones, I hate pot. I hate smoking it. I am the least cool person ever when it comes to drugs or pot, unless we are talking a little of the analgesic cream legally for sale here in California, which I use on some of my old car accident and motorcycle accident injuries. Okay, this defense is just sounding worse and worse! But seriously, not a fan of the Mary Jane.)
So now, the boyfriend was driving and I was reading about the city and where we were staying, a hostel inside a park with lots of Gaudi architecture nearby. Cool!
But what I wanted to warn Mike about was the high level of pickpockets and crime. It was a big deal in Barcelona, according to Lonely Planet, and Mike was famous for just not paying attention to his stuff. He was the kind of guy who would leave his wallet and his insulin and needles and phone and car keys at a bar when he stepped outside to go smoke a cigarette.... something that would leave little Scandinavian Minnesotan Good Girl ME rendered INSANE.
No wonder he always thought I should try smoking pot. I really needed to lighten up! ;-p
Just kidding. I mean. No, seriously, I work on lightening up constantly. But I still don't like the green so much.
Anyway, so, I have an over the shoulder bag I've been hauling around in addition to my backpack with my clothes and toiletries and stuff. It's an oversized purse, you know, think of that episode of "Friends" where Joey has the "man bag" and you'll know what I'm talking about. In it, I kept my makeup, camera, passport, wallet with money and credit cards, phone, keys, (ha!), Mike's insulin and needles (Type I Diabetic) little notebook for notes and pens. Also, gum. Also, once we had checked into our HOSTEL and were down at the internet cafe (remember those?) because I had a friend in Barcelona and I was checking my email to see if he had written back with his phone number so we could hang out, my little bag was ALSO carrying Mike's insulin and needles so we could just head straight out without going back up to our room where he was putting away our stuff.
And, oh! Look! Luciano had emailed us. I pulled out my notebook and a pen, set down the over the shoulder bag, wrote down the number, reached back down for my purse and-
and-
where the F*** was it?
Well, S***.
It was gone.
Mike came down then, and bumped into a guy in a suit with his coat draped over his arm.
He saw the panic on my face- it had been fairly constant on this trip-
and we began the fruitless search for my purse.
Finally, we went to the front desk for help, and we began the process of cancelling credit cards in the back office of the hostel lobby. Meanwhile, guess what? The hostel had cameras installed and the whole damn thing was ON TAPE. Mike and I watched as, at the exact moment I set down my purse, the guy IN THE SUIT got up from his seat two chairs down from me, grabbed my purse, covered it WITH HIS COAT, walked around, bumped into Mike, and sauntered out of the internet cafe in the hostel.
Well.
Damn.
Anyway, the Veteran's Day thing.
So, this was November 10th, and I called the US Consulate in Barcelona, because guess who had her passport in that very bag?
And the outgoing voicemail message let me know that as November 11th was a holiday and the Consulate would be closed, it would also close early on November 10th, and re-open at 8 am on November 12th.
Yargh!
That particular trip was a learning lesson for me. It was the trip where we accidentally got stuck at a disco hosted by some Basque Separatists, where I accidentally bribed a traffic cop in Belgium (I swear), and where my ex-boyfriend and I were really truly about to become ex'es.
I didn't like the trip while I was on it, but I enjoy thinking about it so many years later.
So. Happy Veteran's Day, all you service men and women, and I thank you for your service.
xx
Erin
This photo either Mike or I snapped of the full moon above Carcasonne, a few days before Veteran's Day. We loved western and southern France. That part of the trip, they were some of the greatest days of my life. I have never felt so free.
And honestly, the passport thing took a few days to sort out, but driving through France, Spain and Belgium was glorious.
which includes
My Dad, several of my uncles and cousins and grandfathers, and many friends.
My partner in life and crime is former military as well, but not US Military.
Still, I thank you all for your service!
This day, 11/11, has a lot of interesting memories for me.
My first recollection is more of Armistice Day, and of older gentleman selling poppies at Coborn's Grocery store, which was the main grocery store in my hometown in Minnesota. I always felt a little afraid of older men, but I remember one day, straggling behind my mother as we walked into the store, there were two older men (at the time, I would have called them "Grandpa Age," which could have been anywhere from mid 50s to 80, for all I know.) One was very gruff and ornery, but the other was so kindly as he pinned the little red poppy to my jacket.
Somewhere along the lines, somewhere in the late junior high or possible early senior high school years, I remember saying "Happy Veteran's Day, Dad!" to my father. He snorted and said, "yeah right." My dad had been in Viet Nam toward the end of the war, in the 70s. He had been drafted at age 22 or 23. He never speaks of it, and would hate me even mentioning it or this paragraph. But I feel it is important for our us to see any and all perspectives about this sort of thing. Once, my brother and I were snooping, (very bad, I know, but it's true!) and we found a purple heart in my Dad's secret box of special things. Years later we confessed and asked him about it. He rolled his eyes and said, "they were handing those things out left and right back then." So I guess we'll never know what it was for? Or maybe in years to come, now that he is getting to "Grandpa Age," we will learn more details.
My other memories of Veteran's Day- aside from Peanuts cartoons- are not about Vets or Veterans but about strange things that happened to occur on this day, 11/11.
So, about ten years ago, (or was it 12 years now?) my ex-boyfriend and I were on a little acoustic tour of gigs in Europe. We played a few gigs in France, and had a lot of time in between them so as to explore. We had rented a Renault Clio and shoved our guitars in the back and hit the road, driving through Western France, down to the sea and Coulioure and Perpignan, into the Pyrenees, visiting Cathar Castle Ruins high in the clouds, and then down into Barcelona.
This particular trip had already been a comedy of errors. I had lost my house key while locking the back door as my sister was picking us up to drive us to the airport to start the whole dang journey. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true! It was early November, the 3rd, and there had been a light dusting of snow in Minneapolis, where I was living at the time. My sister was picking us up very early in the morning, while it was still dark. (What a saint.) As I was locking the back door, I pulled the keys out, and then realized I had forgotten to turn off a certain light in the house and wanted to double check the flames and any electronics I may have left on. Mike, my boyfriend at the time, was already in the car. With the key ring literally still in my hand, I turned back to the door and looked for the key to unlock the door. It was gone. It was not on the key ring. I looked in the door itself. It was not in the door. I looked on the steps, on the ground below. It was nowhere to be found.
Eerie.
I never did find it, either, but of course, by the time we returned to Minneapolis about three and a half weeks later, the ground was frozen and buried beneath a thick pile of snow.
We had a layover in New York, during which we visited some friends of mine. We were going to have lunch with a friend also named Mike, and while we waited for him to finish work, we wandered around Washington Square Park. We got a coffee. Just as I was about to sip my drink, a bird flew by and pooped DIRECTLY INTO THE SIP HOLE of the cup.
Blech.
Fine. No coffee for me, that's okay. We headed over to my friend's office and he laughed when he heard the story and said, "here, have a cup of coffee." He pulled a mug from the company cupboards, filled it with coffee, and handed me the cup. I grabbed the handle of the ceramic mug with a smiley face on it. I remember it had googly eyes glued on to it. Before I even took a sip, the cup itself BROKE COMPLETELY FROM THE HANDLE which I was left holding as the entire cup dropped to the floor.
Ay. ay ay.
And on and on. The whole trip had been like this so far, and now, driving into Barcelona, after having just getting stopped by La Guardia Civilia (and somehow avoiding a search of car, which, as usual with that particular boyfriend, definitely WOULD have yielded a discovery of illegal substances, this time, hash in the jelly jar.) (TWICE with that boyfriend I got pulled over for no reason and ONCE searched, both times with pot in the car, and miraculously, the time we DID get searched by DOGS no less? They didn't find the stash.) (And by the way, and this is 100% true, ask ANY of my ex boyfriends, especially the pot smoking ones, I hate pot. I hate smoking it. I am the least cool person ever when it comes to drugs or pot, unless we are talking a little of the analgesic cream legally for sale here in California, which I use on some of my old car accident and motorcycle accident injuries. Okay, this defense is just sounding worse and worse! But seriously, not a fan of the Mary Jane.)
So now, the boyfriend was driving and I was reading about the city and where we were staying, a hostel inside a park with lots of Gaudi architecture nearby. Cool!
But what I wanted to warn Mike about was the high level of pickpockets and crime. It was a big deal in Barcelona, according to Lonely Planet, and Mike was famous for just not paying attention to his stuff. He was the kind of guy who would leave his wallet and his insulin and needles and phone and car keys at a bar when he stepped outside to go smoke a cigarette.... something that would leave little Scandinavian Minnesotan Good Girl ME rendered INSANE.
No wonder he always thought I should try smoking pot. I really needed to lighten up! ;-p
Just kidding. I mean. No, seriously, I work on lightening up constantly. But I still don't like the green so much.
Anyway, so, I have an over the shoulder bag I've been hauling around in addition to my backpack with my clothes and toiletries and stuff. It's an oversized purse, you know, think of that episode of "Friends" where Joey has the "man bag" and you'll know what I'm talking about. In it, I kept my makeup, camera, passport, wallet with money and credit cards, phone, keys, (ha!), Mike's insulin and needles (Type I Diabetic) little notebook for notes and pens. Also, gum. Also, once we had checked into our HOSTEL and were down at the internet cafe (remember those?) because I had a friend in Barcelona and I was checking my email to see if he had written back with his phone number so we could hang out, my little bag was ALSO carrying Mike's insulin and needles so we could just head straight out without going back up to our room where he was putting away our stuff.
And, oh! Look! Luciano had emailed us. I pulled out my notebook and a pen, set down the over the shoulder bag, wrote down the number, reached back down for my purse and-
and-
where the F*** was it?
Well, S***.
It was gone.
Mike came down then, and bumped into a guy in a suit with his coat draped over his arm.
He saw the panic on my face- it had been fairly constant on this trip-
and we began the fruitless search for my purse.
Finally, we went to the front desk for help, and we began the process of cancelling credit cards in the back office of the hostel lobby. Meanwhile, guess what? The hostel had cameras installed and the whole damn thing was ON TAPE. Mike and I watched as, at the exact moment I set down my purse, the guy IN THE SUIT got up from his seat two chairs down from me, grabbed my purse, covered it WITH HIS COAT, walked around, bumped into Mike, and sauntered out of the internet cafe in the hostel.
Well.
Damn.
Anyway, the Veteran's Day thing.
So, this was November 10th, and I called the US Consulate in Barcelona, because guess who had her passport in that very bag?
And the outgoing voicemail message let me know that as November 11th was a holiday and the Consulate would be closed, it would also close early on November 10th, and re-open at 8 am on November 12th.
Yargh!
That particular trip was a learning lesson for me. It was the trip where we accidentally got stuck at a disco hosted by some Basque Separatists, where I accidentally bribed a traffic cop in Belgium (I swear), and where my ex-boyfriend and I were really truly about to become ex'es.
I didn't like the trip while I was on it, but I enjoy thinking about it so many years later.
So. Happy Veteran's Day, all you service men and women, and I thank you for your service.
xx
Erin
This photo either Mike or I snapped of the full moon above Carcasonne, a few days before Veteran's Day. We loved western and southern France. That part of the trip, they were some of the greatest days of my life. I have never felt so free.
And honestly, the passport thing took a few days to sort out, but driving through France, Spain and Belgium was glorious.