Memorial Day

When I was in high school, about fifty million years ago, school always let out right before Memorial Day weekend. My friends and I had one goal in mind: to jumpstart our suntans. To that end, we would put on halter tops and spend the day on our bicycles. The locale was Northeast Colorado, the high plains, where the sun shines, the wind blows and it's hot in the daytime and cool at night.
We usually rode out to the South Platte River, not exactly the wide Missouri, but a destination five miles from town. There were sand pits along the river, and of course of parents had forbidden us to to go them, but sometimes we went.

Once we had wheels, we would go to Jackson or Prewitt reservoirs for a day of sunning. I used to pack a lunch in an old fishing creel. Can't remember what we ate. My mom was a big sandwich lover, so there was probably always ham or roast beef around. Mustard on the ham, mayo on the beef, and a slice of lettuce on both. I was 18 years old before I knew about anything but Wonder-bread style white bread. The creel probably contained a cupcake and a candy bar or some cookies. Potato chips to be sure. A piece of fruit would have been standard fare. Sounds pretty good. Sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper back then. Hey, I said it was fifty million years ago.

By the time we were seventeen or so, a six pack of beer would have been schlepped along. And a couple packs of cigarettes. L & M's probably. Maybe Hit Parade. In those days, four girls could get tipsy on a six pack. Beer and food and cigarettes and companionship. When we got where we were going we swam a little and talked a lot. I would love to eavesdrop on those conversations now.
Nobody used sunscreen or sun lotion and that high altitude sun packed a whallop. My mom would put calamine on my back when I came home. The girls in the next town used iodine in baby oil to advance their tans, but we weren't that sophisticated.

This weekend, Significant Other and I will visit the two local cemeteries we missed last year. There are six old burying grounds nearby. Revolutionary war graves in many of them. New England is old. I love these solemn places with their trees and stone walls and the falling over graves.