I am watching a marathon of the show Band of Brothers. It has been on for hours and will not end until just before one in the morning. I do work! I must leave the house by eight-thirty in the morning but I can’t pull myself away from the show. It is now eleven-twenty-nine and another commercial break is allowing me to write here. I am so thankful that my mother and my father spoke of this war they both were engaged in (apparently. my father up to his elbows in mud and my mother up to her elbows in peaches) in one effort or another. I know more stories than most children of this war. I think the bravest thing my father ever did was to tell me his stories. Thank you Daddy.