Last summer when I started walking with clenched-teeth determination to lose weight, I chose to listen to the theme from The Longest Day on my ipod. It has, of course, a good, strong tempo, as do a lot of songs; it also was a reminder to me of those soldiers who came ashore at D-Day – they were facing a more than possible death, not just heat shimmering from a sidewalk. I felt there would be no way I could quit with them in my mind – their song in my ears.

And it worked. This year I briefly considered walking to another song, one that was upbeat and happy – maybe One Top of the World, but I felt I owed it to those soldiers and all the others who have gone in harm’s way. So it played in my ears two days ago and yesterday and today. Today, though, I thought a bit about my father who came ashore at Normandy shortly AFTER D-Day. It was February and he was dying, would be dead in just days. For the first time he mentioned that time to me: He said his group came through St. Lo and the people threw flowers at them “because they thought we were real soldiers, but, of course, we weren’t.”

By the time I reached this part of my memory, I was almost home. Tears were stinging my eyes and my throat was tight . . . I could have used a few more blocks before I went inside. I composed myself in the vestibule and came out here . . . to write this.