Are there skeletons in your closet too?

By the way I mean no disrespect to the religious amongst us. The anthropology of it fascinates me.

Maybe there is some of the family history buff in me?

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I watched a lot of television yesterday: the ANZAC day coverage. Moved and annoyed.

My grandfather was an engineer during WWI – on the Western Front. He came back and married my grandmother sometime later. He lived to 91. It might be hard to argue that his life was shortened, but as I sat there watching the ceremonies I was curious about what he would say to me now that I’m an adult.

I watched as arthritic men and women braved cold and wet conditions and the wobbles of age to process down George St — showing a different kind of courage. There was pride in the ability to do that, the freedom not just of State, but of limb.

The inevitable aging of the participants was evident. There was an increased number of taxis carrying those too frail to walk. There were also more troop carriers scattered throughout. The commentators struggled with how to accommodate these folks while still lauding those that marched. There was generally a lot of confusion about who was marching because the groups were too small to read the banners. Mind you the lead commentator, a John Moore, even got the year wrong, refering to this as the 2009 march!

PB and I talked about the potential future of the march. That part of history lost. Perhaps some mark of respect; a medal or token needs to be given to the families of Diggers in addition to medals (many of which would be at the War Memorial).

Then we switched to the commercial stations who did much more professional commercial-free coverage of the services at Gallipoli and Villers-Bretonneux. Both were moving with the commentators knowing when to be quiet. It was beautiful and fitting to hear the lapping of the water against the shores of Gallipoli during the two-minute silence and have that left as is by the producers. Seeing the silhouettes of the strong crowd amid not only the sandstone monument wall but the gravestones was stiring and chillesd me to know my mother was among them those attending the service.

I am inspired now to make better use of the freedom won. Thank you. I can’t take that for granted because it is not a once for all promise. Freedom like all vibrant and living gifts request our blessing and vigilant tendering. May I be up to the task before me.

Lest we forget.

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