Memorial Day

All Quiet Along the Potomac To-Night

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except here and there a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing - a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men
Moaning out all alone the death rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming,
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
And the light of their watch-fires are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping,
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack - his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,
And their mother - "may Heaven defend her."

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling;
And gathers his gun closer up to his breast,
As if to keep down the heart's swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
And his footstep is lagging and weary,
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night wind that rustles the leaves?
Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle! "Ha! Mary, good-bye!"
And his lifeblood is ebbing and splashing.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight,"
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
The picket's off duty forever.

(Ethel Lynn Beers, 1861)

The Blob

Buster has a number of toys that he seems to particularly like. There's the rag rope, of course. There's the eviscerated hide of what was once a plush toy, in the shape of a dog. Then there's The Blob.

I don't remember buying The Blob, but I must have done so, and years ago. It's a fist-sized lump of heavy blue plastic; its surface is scored, rather like a hand-grenade. Buster found it somewhere, and loves it. He brings it to me to play fetch; he carries it around and drops it, letting it bounce and roll away and then pouncing on it. He also, for some reason, takes it up onto the bed, drops it, and rolls on it. I'd been assuming that it felt good, but it came to me this morning that there's another reason why dogs roll on things....