And so I polish...

by Mary Reiman

Today I polished a spoon. You might think I have a rather boring life. Maybe. I have had several (OK…many) moments of feeling catatonic in the last few weeks. But this is more cathartic. In some ways the spoon has the touch of a worry stone. A place to go to find calm. I could hardly put words together for the short segment of our group blog last weekend. I was feeling motionless. 

I believe this silverware came to me for a reason when I found these pieces deep in a box last week.

The spoon with the R on the handle was a family piece. A well-worn family piece left behind after cleaning out the farmhouse. I am finding serenity by focusing on this simple act of polishing.  

Reflecting on one thing leads to another when thinking about the past. 

My trip to Iowa last weekend took me back to the family, the land, the memories. It just happened to be Veterans Day weekend that included a visit to the cemetery to honor Dad, a WWII veteran who served from 1942 until the end of the war in 1945. He went into the Army when he was 21 years old. Like so many, he never talked about those years, and mom told us not to ask.  I often wonder how much he shared with her. 

Recently, thanks to the families of others in the 748th Tank Battalion posting their stories online, we are now piecing together his story…history. 

Instead of going directly overseas after basic training in 1942, Dad was part of a unit sent to the Arizona desert to be trained on the use of the British-developed Canal Defence Light or CDL. Over 9,000 soldiers were sworn to secrecy about the project. This light would be attached to tanks for the purpose of disorienting approaching enemy troops and it needed to be tested before use.  They were told they were being trained with a weapon that was going to change the course of the war. Unfortunately, after months of testing, the light did not work as the military had hoped. It was never tested in battle, but it did get used during the war for security and illumination, especially when they were crossing rivers. Dad’s unit was in the desert from July, 1943, until March, 1944. 

Their battalion landed in Europe on April 6th, 1944. After arriving on Utah Beach, Dad drove a truck at night, in the dark, through enemy territory in France, Germany and Austria. His friend’s documentation described what they saw, and how they kept going in spite of what they saw. I now have a better understanding of why dad never talked about it. He was a private in the Army. And he was private about that experience forever after.

I wonder what mom and dad would say about the state of our nation today. Patriotism is defined as ‘love for your country and loyalty towards it.’ A definition currently interpreted in so many ways. 

With each journal I read, I find clarity in Dad’s life story. Do I wish I had known sooner? Yes, but maybe we learn more when we are meant to learn more. Maybe gaining more knowledge of the past will help me more clearly define patriotism, loyalty and courage. 

I feel there is much to wonder about, to worry about…and so I polish.