Wreaths Across America 2010

San Diego will continue to be the most powerful military town on the planet. There isn’t a country in the world that wants to get into a war with San Diego. . . . John Pike, defense analyst at Globalsecurity.org

Yesterday I went with my Daughters of the American Revolution buddies to Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery to lay 2800 wreaths on our veterans' grave sites.

The second Saturday of December each year is Wreaths Across America, a project to lay a holiday wreath on veterans' graves across the country. The tradition started with one man in Maine, Morrill Worcester, who owns Worcester Wreaths and who set out to lay wreaths on all the Arlington cemetery graves in 1992. Since then the project has grown to 215,000 wreaths across the country this year and, being the military town we are, there was no lack of graves.

The morning began with one of those Pacific Ocean mists that can move in like a flash and as quickly clear to bright sunshine.


When it cleared, 700 volunteers were revealed from all over San Diego, Girl Scouts, Patriot Riders, corporate groups, individuals, college students, you name it, they were there.




We were joined by active duty military,


some with a lot of ribbons and metals on their chests and stripes on the sleeve.


The moving pre-wreath laying ceremony was hosted by our own DeAnza D.A.R. chapter Joanne Murphy (usually she has a lot of ribbons and metals on her chest herself),


and the wreath procession led by the Sons of the American Revolution, headed naturally by a bagpipe playing Scotsman.


They were followed by the presentation of a wreath for each branch of service, the Merchant Marines, and the MIA/POW's.




I couldn't help but think these were such young people, too young to be thinking about war, and so young I had to retouch this young's man's acne.


We were finally ready for the boxes of wreaths trucked all the way from Maine to be handed out by Mark Bauckman, coordinator for The Mission Continues, ex-Navy himself, and employee of Qualcomm, a huge supporter of the project. He was a dead ringer for Kevin Bacon.


We laid our wreaths, mine on Joseph Edgar Hayden from Pennsylvania, and wondered about their stories,


reflecting for a bit.


Jeffrey is a six foot two Afro-American I asked along in our group. I don't think he could pass for a D.A.R. but no questions were asked when he reached for our box out of the truck.

Some looked for special graves, Nancy was looking for Army Air but finally placed hers on one marked only US soldier. A Point Loma Nazarene student searched until he found one that had his same birthday, October 17.


I found an Irishman with a Celtic gravestone who died at Camp Kearny, a World War I Army camp in San Diego. He was just 7 days past his 30th birthday when he died in 1918. What was an Irishman doing in San Diego in World War I?


And a guy, Mason Carter, Medal of Honor from the Indian Campaigns. Not sure I'd want that on my headstone.


Nancy and I walked through the cemetery for a while after our wreaths were placed. There is no doubt Fort Rosecrans, a cemetery since 1847 before California was a state and overlooking the ocean and bay from both sides, is prime real estate.


What is also evident is these grave markers go on for what seems forever, 71,000 records in all, albeit some are spouses, and we had only 2800 wreaths.


I had that Shindler's List feeling - we could have done more. As good as it looks in these photos, most of the gravesites didn't get a wreath. Shall we propose to call a halt to wars until we can put a wreath on the graves we have now?

Izena duen guzia omen da

Patty is going to shortly pass us out of Basque country and I have to get my two cents in before that happens.

Who hasn’t wanted to visit Basque lands, and what is the fascination with these people and their territory, half in France and half in Spain? What about these peoples with their thick eyebrows and long straight noses has forged an identity and cohesion that’s lasted thousands of years, believed to be the most direct descendants of CroMagnons who lived in this area 40,000 years ago, so fierce that not even the Romans made many inroads into their culture.

Perhaps this notion of “first neighbor” -

"Every rural Basque house traditionally had at least one “first neighbor”. In some places, a house has as many as four. The relationship exists between houses, is permanent and fixed and can be changed only if a house is abandoned completely or if a new house is built. Then the order of “first neighbor” relationships shifts to accommodate these facts. Such neighbors are expected to assist each other without complaint, to help with agricultural tasks and at rites of passage (birth, baptism, marriage and death). “First neighbors” play their most vital roles during the process of death—by letting friends, relatives and the wider community know the sad news, by taking over all domestic and agricultural work so that the mourning family can grieve. The neighbors hold a wake for the deceased and offer food and drink to those who come to pay their respects. Neighbors carry the coffin and help with the burial, as well as with prayer that ensures the soul’s journey to Purgatory."

We were given a glimpse into the Basque pride and identity by our host at Hotel Akeretta who told us the Kingdom is here, and it’s Basque. Heaven on earth or not, the food and scenery are as close as you can get. Glad we got to experience a small bit of it.

I Have Two Words for You, People – Flat Land

I often start out a day with a tune in my head that doesn’t leave me for hours. Sometimes it doesn’t leave me for days. What starts the particular tune is usually a mystery. I can try substituting another tune, but often this strategy is unsuccessful. For example, this week I’ve had Toto’s Africa stuck in my head. I’ve hummed it in the car. I’ve whistled it through my teeth at work. I tried substituting Bowie’s Major Tom, but that lasted for 5 minutes before the default kicked back in. It can be a little annoying.

Along the Camino, I had a saying stuck in my head. “I have two words for you, people…” and then I’d fill in the blank with whatever was appropriate at the time. During the first 100 miles, the blank was usually filled in with “flat land”.

Thursday, September 23rd, our second day on the Camino, was a 17-mile day. From the elevation drawing in the guidebook, this stretch looked like it would be mostly downhill with a couple nipples here and there. The nipples proved to be more like thirty degree (or steeper) inclines – that lasted for a kilometer or two. And one thing I know about myself is that I do NOT like walking uphill.

The day started out easy enough.

It was in a forest like this that I noticed crocuses blooming on the ground. How odd, I thought to myself…crocuses bloom back home in the late winter. When I commented on the little blossoms to Kathleen, she informed me that they were saffron. (I later read somewhere that saffron is a crocus species, 70% of which grows in Spain.) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – it was so nice to have a horticulturist as a hiking buddy!


At the first village of the day, Burguete, I was enthralled with the red and pink flowered boxes on the white Navarese buildings.


Yup, I was so enthralled that I totally missed the sign marking the turn-off of the trail from the street. Half a mile later when we realized we were going the wrong way, a little old Basque gentleman told Kathie to just stay on the road and we’d get back on the trail in Espinal. (Kathie continued to amaze me with her Spanish comprehension throughout the trip!) Since we wanted to walk on the actual trail, Kathie asked some younger peeps hanging out the second story window of a rural health clinic for directions. They of course directed us back to Burguete, where we finally found the turn-off after much wandering around.

So now it was going to be an 18-mile day. And where was the guidebook that, had I consulted it, would have told me exactly where the turn-off was? Tucked neatly into my lumbar pack.

Some random photos from the day…

This looks like some sort of shrine. Notice the skeleton of a tent that was offered in sacrifice.

Here’s another example of how much better Kathie’s photography skills are than mine. Notice the nice composition...

And then the close-up...

Now here's mine. Obviously, timing is everything.

Honestly, that cat was just waiting for me to click the button so he could wash his little butt with his buddy looking on.

When you’re tired and hungry, you can eat lunch just about anywhere.

Walk, walk, walk…after a while, it all blurs together. Another village, another church, more trees, more sheep. When we hit Zubiri, however, suddenly we were crossing over land that belonged to some kind of industrial company. Was it a power plant? The path through included a set of wide and uneven steps down, down. By now my left groin muscle was feeling like a loose fan belt – the current was getting to it but the muscle just couldn’t seem to grab on, and the ups and downs were not helping one little iota. 'Twas my own fault for not adequately preparing for the trip. All I could think of was getting to our hotel so I picked up my pace.

Finally, we pulled into the Hotel Akerreta, a restored Basque house. The mom of the family who now owns the house is from California. The dad, who greeted us as we entered, was very nice and told us about the house. Here’s the lobby…

And the chimney of the bread ovens. This was on the landing right outside our 2nd story room. Looks kind of Native Americanish, don't you think? I'm glad they didn't rip it out when the house was restored.

The view outside Kathie’s window...

And we had a very nice dinner.

Outside the next morning – what is that vine-y white flower covered plant, anyway?

The Hotel Akerreta

Next...on to Pamplona.

P.S. I just looked up the lyrics for Toto's Africa, you know - just to make sure I got them right for this post. What do I find but that the lyrics stuck in my head are wrong. Oh well. "I miss the rain down in Africa..." It's gonna be really hard to change now.

There are a LOT of us crazy peeps out there.

While I’m gathering up enough steam to write another “day on the camino” post, let’s talk about the other peeps who are crazy enough to walk 200 miles – or more.

On our way out of St. Jean Pied de Port, we met handsome young Alex from Charlotte, North Carolina. He graduated from college this spring with a major in English and a minor in computer technology – or something like that. He was walking the entire camino – all 500 miles of it – by himself with everything on his back. He was not sending his luggage by way of taxi to the next hotel like we were, so he had his clothes, extra shoes, Head and Shoulders – EVERYTHING – in his backpack. No wimpy lumbar pack for this young man.

At dinner in Roncesvalles, we sat at a big round table with other pilgrims, one of whom was a young man from Sweden. He was a little vague about what he does for a living – I think he was in computer technology too, wasn’t he, Kath? He said he was taking a break to decide on his next career. His English was excellent and, oh by the way, he spoke several other languages as well. Put us to shame, he did. He was also traveling the entire camino by himself and carrying with him all of his gear in a pack that weighed 7 kilos total.

We met so many people from different countries – from as far away as Korea and Australia and Hawaii, and from all over Europe. Some traveled singly – mostly men, young like Alex and older like the gentleman we kept passing on the 2nd hundred miles. He spoke a language that I didn’t understand – surprise, surprise! – so we never did figure out where he was from. He just kept plodding along…sometimes we passed him, other times he passed us.

We met many couples – again, young and older, and many groups. We saw one child of maybe 8 or 10 years, but I think he was doing just a day hike with his family. There were a few groups of teenagers – all European, perhaps all Spanish. One small group was a young Scottish guy walking the entire camino with his girlfriend and her mother. Kathie just went up and started talking with him because he had red hair and beard; she figured he must be Scottish and having walked the Western Highlands she’s now Scottish herself, you know. (Just teasin’, Kath!) Anyway, he was out of work back in Scotland so he decided to walk the camino. He was liking it so much that he said when he reached Santiago he’d probably just turn left and cut down through Portugal. Neat guy.

Some of the travelers were on bikes. Believe me, getting up and down those rocky slopes on foot is tough enough – I don’t know how those guys did it on bikes. Once we even saw a group of guys on Segways. Never saw ‘em again…they left us in their dust.

It is estimated by Wikipedia that more than 200,000 pilgrims will have walked the camino this year – and those are just the ones getting their compostela in Santiago.

From what we saw, the majority were walking the entire 500 miles and with full packs. Bless ‘em all. Buen Camino!

Day One on the Camino de Santiago (or "A Picture is So Worth a Thousand Words")

By the end of the last post, I was so anxious to get going on the posts about actually walking the camino that I forgot to post a couple of important pics.

Pat, Kathleen, and Kathie across from the pilgrim office in St. Jean

Twilight on the River Nive in "downtown" St. Jean Pied de Port

In our room at the Hotel Continental, getting packed up for day 1

A journey of 200 miles begins with a set of stairs

OK, here we go...

The last downhill we're gonna see for hours

As I mentioned at the end of my last post, we stopped in the pilgrim office in St. Jean Pied de Port. There we picked up a pilgrim passport and a sheet of paper that shows the elevations of each of the camino’s stages. Here’s the elevation for the first day.

Seriously, need I say more? The saying about a picture being worth a thousand words was never more appropriate.

At the beginning of the climb

Up a little ways

About time to start shedding clothes

(The exertion of climbing made us so warm that two of the three of us took off our bras, standing on the side of the road in Etchebestea. Names have been omitted here to protect the guilty. Suffice it to say that this blog should now be called “Pat and Perky”.)

And up further...

How much further does this go?

I had thought - with dread - about this day for months. Thinking that a lumbar pack would be cooler and easier on my back, I ordered one from L.L. Bean. And so that I would not repeat the miserable day two years earlier on the Hadrian's Wall walk, hiking in ill-fitting boots, I strapped my sneakers onto my pack for in case I needed to change. In my pack, then, I carried sneakers, rain gear, two liter bottles full of water, lunch, etc. It was a wee bit heavy and flopped around on my hips more than I liked. Being a novice lumbar pack wearer, I cinched the strap tight around my waist to minimize the flopping. When I finally figured out the tight strap was cutting off my air supply, making the climb all the more difficult, I loosened the strap. The ascent was still really tough, but my face changed to a lighter shade of puce. Then again, that might have been the result of applying sunscreen over dried sweat over sunscreen, which feels a lot like rubbing your skin with gravel.

Finally, at Frontera, we crossed into Spain. In another 4 kilometers, we hit Col de Lepoeder, elevation 1450 meters. Tradition says that Charlemagne's rear guard, commanded by Roland, was ambushed and slaughtered in this area back in 778. Ever read the Song of Roland? No, I haven't either. I hear it's over 4,000 lines long. It's probably on Kathie's reading list.

We took a bit of a break here before heading down to Roncesvalles. The nice pilgrimage office lady had advised us to take the road down, which would be kinder and gentler on our knees. Did we listen to the nice pilgrimage office lady? Nooo - we were real women and knocked ourselves out going down through the forest - which I have to say was very pretty.

The way down

Finally we arrived in Roncesvalles, where we spent the night at La Posada, right next door to which is a 12th century Romanesque chapel – supposedly the burial place of Roland’s slaughtered soldiers.

There are also pilgrims buried in there. After this day, I can understand what happened to them.

Background (or why on earth anyone would walk 200 miles in 2 weeks if they didn't have to)

Tour St. Jacques, Paris

One of the best books I’ve ever read is Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth. The first Follett book I had tried to read bordered on pornographic and Pillars is over a thousand pages, so it was kind of a miracle when I finished it – and loved it – over ten years ago. Up until recently when I reread it, I remembered that it was a story about cathedral building (and builders) back in the 12th century and the intrigues of the church and nobles, and it ended with the murder of Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

For some reason, one small part of the story in particular – no more than about five pages of the thousand – caught my attention and made enough of an impression that I remembered it all these years. (Highly unusual for me – I usually have forgotten not only the details but even the general plot of a book within a month after I finish reading it.) This was the story of Lady Aliena’s following Jack the Builder to Paris, only to find that he’s left on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the northwest of Spain. So with her newborn, she sets out on horseback to find him there.

The pilgrimage Jack took was the Way of St. James, or Camino de Santiago. For a thousand years, Christians have trekked from all over Europe (and these days, from all over the world) to the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, where the remains of St. James the Greater are kept (or so legend would have you believe). Back in the old days, this pilgrimage was as important for Christians to make as the pilgrimage to Jerusalem was. Supposedly, it was established and promoted by the Cluniac order as a means to expand the influence of Christianity; the French kings used it to build their political and economic power in Spain as well. The route was protected by the Knights Templar and the Order of Santiago; monasteries, churches, and towns sprang up along the route to provide for the pilgrims’ spiritual and physical needs. There’s a whole chapter in James Michener’s Iberia about the Camino and his (second) trip to Santiago in 1966. Other people he lists as having done the pilgrimage were:

• Charlemagne
• Louis VII of France
• St. Francis of Assisi
• James III of Scotland and England
• Pope John XXIII (before he became the pope, that is)

What does this have to do with Pat and Kathie? you ask. In 2008, Kath, Joan, Hisako, Tetsu, and I walked all 84 miles of the Hadrian’s Wall trail in northern England. Last year, I was working on our Magnet project so I very reluctantly and sadly had to turn down Kathie’s invitation to hike the Western Highlands of Scotland with her, Kathleen, Sally, and Jan. So when Kathie suggested earlier this year that we do at least part of the 500-mile Camino in Spain, I was – as usual – nervous that I couldn’t get physically ready for such a hike, but curious enough about the pilgrimage that she didn’t have to twist my arm too hard to get me to go along.

In her usual way, Kathie set about lining up other walkers to go with us and making arrangements. Of course, she booked hotels and bag transfer through Macs Adventures again. For my part, I didn’t really start to prepare for the hike ‘til July. (Typical!) Our other sister, Janie, walked the bridge, Folly Beach, or Citadel Mall with me most evenings – right up until the day her evil gallbladder sent her to the ER. For the couple weeks between then and the start of the trip, I slacked off. What’s the worst that can happen, I asked myself. When it comes right down to it, all ya gotta do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. I’ll get through it like I always do, I thought.

September 17th finally arrived and a gallbladder-free Janie drove me to the airport then wished me good luck as we parted. I had been instructed by Kathie that I was NOT to check a bag so I had what I thought I would need for a 3 week trip, including 3 days in Paris and 14 days on the trail, packed in a carryon and a lumbar pack. Riding in two water bottles nestled in the pockets on each side of the lumbar pack I carried as a handbag were 5 pounds of peanut M&Ms that I had rationed out into 22 baggies – one for each day. I can only imagine what the airport security peeps thought when they saw that. (At least they didn’t have to hunt through my bags looking for mysterious white powder like they did in Kathie’s. What was that, Kath? Hydralite, did you say? LOL!)

In Atlanta, I met up with Kathie and Kathleen for the flight to Paris. If you’ve read the last few posts here, you know that we had a great time there. On Monday morning, we went back by the Tour St. Jacques before going to the Louvre. (It had been closed the evening we stopped by the first time.)

Pilgrim Statue at the base of the Tour St. Jacques

It was at this place that pilgrims from all over Europe met in the old days to start the 900 mile journey to Santiago de Compostela. So here we picked up buckeyes from the grass under the buckeye trees, and touched the monument for good luck on the pilgrimage.

On Tuesday evening, we arrived at the trailhead in the town of St. Jean Pied de Port in the Pyrenees Mountains. Here we visited the pilgrim office for guidance, got a bite to eat in a Basque café, and roamed along the top of the old city wall in the dark. The next morning, we set off on our incredible adventure.

Paris, Sitting

Before Patty moves us along on our adventure, I must comment on a phenomenon I've seen in no other city but Paris - sitting around outdoors.

Who hasn't said when asked what they planned to do in Paris "go to to the Louvre, and sit in a sidewalk cafe" or "go to Versailles, and sit in a sidewalk cafe".


Since we had a lot to see in our three days we did a lot of walking, trust me, a lot of walking. But everywhere there was this curiosity of Parisians sitting around and, had we been in Paris longer, we would have lounged around more in these beautiful places.

Patty already showed us the Tulleries, but she didn't point out that chairs were provided for people to sit around. They must have been set there but the city and people must value them so highly they don't get stolen. Nice chairs, at that.


They were lounging all over Versaille,


down the hillside at Sacre Couer,


and around the gardens of Luxembourg Palace.


Again, those chairs at Luxembourg that can be moved around, congregated, or isolated, whatever your mood or desire. Reading, talking, congregating, looking, and in no hurry to get anyplace.


What is it about Paris or Parisians that brings out this behavior of sitting outside? Do they have that Buddhist "in the moment"? Because the city is so expensive?

Whatever the reason, I said when I got back to San Diego I would look for some sitting around outside. Haven't found it yet except at the beach, but I'll be looking.

Let's Wrap This Baby Up.

I've been dragging this Paris story out far too long. We were only there three days, for heaven's sake. Time to wrap it up and get on to the real story.

So back at Carol’s on Monday evening, we repacked our bags, showered, and went to bed. In the morning, we had our last French breakfast with Carol. She called a cab for us and we had an exciting ride to Montparnasse train station for the TGV to Bayonne.

Such a nice train – and very fast! The suburbs melted away and we passed through farmland and hills crested with lines of modern white windmills. I wrote my notes about Paris…

Generally, I enjoyed Paris very much - much more so than I did 40 years ago. Perhaps it’s an age thing, or the Parisians are pleasanter now, maybe it was my traveling companions…maybe it was all three. The weather was wonderful, so traveling on foot and by metro was enjoyable. And our B&B location was perfect! Here are our recommendations if you're planning a trip to Paris:

• Wear a scarf about your neck – if you’re female, that is. Even wearing jeans, the Parisian ladies wear a scarf.
• Get a museum pass and keep in mind that some museums are closed on Mondays – e.g., Versailles. And be aware that labor strikes can close a site unexpectedly, so have a back-up plan.
• Take lots of money – Paris is tres expensive!
• Eat at the Louvre's cafe, use the metro, and stay near Notre Dame so you can see it every day.
• And do get out at night.


Next post: The Real Story.