On Memorial Day, a penny isn’t much

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on May 30, 2017 5:58PM

I spent 45 minutes and left a penny on the headstones of 75 veterans Monday at the Hermiston Cemetery.

It’s not much — not even an hour and not even a dollar. But, for me, it’s a way to commemorate Memorial Day.

Sometimes people forget the meaning behind the holiday. It’s not merely a day off from work (although I did work swing hours) or a day to have a family barbecue.

It’s a small gesture — extremely small. It doesn’t even compare to the sacrifices made by the men and women who have served in our nation’s military.

I became aware of the tradition of leaving coins on headstones nearly a decade ago. Every year since then, sometime during the Memorial Day weekend, I have grabbed a bag of pennies and headed to the cemetery.

According to information I’ve read, the tradition is a way of paying respects. As the coins increase in value, so does the level of connection the person leaving it has with the deceased:

• A penny means a person visited the grave of the veteran that is buried there.

• A nickel means the person trained or was at boot camp with the deceased veteran.

• A dime represents military personnel who served together.

• A quarter indicates the person was present when the deceased was killed.

Reading the headstone, I learn the date of birth, date of death and the branch of the military the veteran served. Then, I say their name and thank them for their service while setting a penny down.

Sometimes, I have to brush away grass that has been cast onto the headstone during the mowing process. And, I’ve even poured water from my bottle to wash away bird droppings. Again, small gestures for people who have made sacrifices to serve our country.

Every once in awhile, someone asks what I’m doing. Such was the case Monday, when an Air Force veteran and his wife noticed the “U.S. Air Force Academy” T-shirt I was wearing.

They said they had come across a pair of headstones — a man and wife who both served in the Air Force. Dismayed that there were no flowers or flags, they returned with a pair of small bouquets. I thought that was pretty cool.

Of the section I visit each year, I personally know the relatives of less than a handful. And, to me, that makes it even more significant. Those veterans didn’t know me — yet they served our country so that I may reap the benefits of the freedoms we have.

Each year I post a photo on Facebook — not because I want attention — but in hopes that maybe someone else will be moved to do a little something to pause a moment and remember to thank our veterans.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

When flying the friendly skies, the airport grounds me

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on May 10, 2017 6:33AM

Although not even close to the fiasco a recent United Airlines passenger experienced, I was thinking back about some of my travel woes over the years.

I’ve observed escalations of passengers on several flights, but my most memorable experiences have taken place in airports.

John and I used to own a timeshare in Mazatlan, so we often traveled to Mexico. After making several trips, it became apparent how addicted I am to Tillamook cheese. Seriously, I went through withdrawal. I would have settled for any cheddar cheese, but you couldn’t find it anywhere — not in stores, not at restaurants, nada.

One particular trip, I decided to remedy that by bringing a pair of Tillamook cheese baby loafs. I’m not sure why I thought I needed four pounds of cheese for 15 days, but that’s what I packed.

To ensure it would be in decent shape by the time we landed in the hot and humid climate, I froze them. I also decided to wrap each package in aluminum foil.

I didn’t think that through very well.

Yup, it pretty much looked like I was smuggling drugs. Oh, and to really add to the appearance of international drug smugglers, my husband brought a couple of pounds of ground coffee. For the uninformed, coffee is often used to mask odors to throw off drug detection dogs.

My realization of how this all appeared flooded my brain as we headed to customs at the Mazatlan airport. John dropped his bag of coffee while rifling through his backpack. Trying not to panic, as sweat poured off my brow, I thought maybe they wouldn’t make a thorough search of our bags.

This was the late-1980s and when you stepped to the front of the line, you pressed a button. If you got a green light, they waved you through. And, a red light meant more in-depth searches.

The odds were against us. Each previous visit, we had gotten the green light. We were due to be detained.

I had packed the foil-wrapped cheese in the center amongst clothes — lots of clothes. Luckily, they merely did a cursory search and we were on our way.

During another trip to Mexico, we were heading home and John’s carry-on baggage caught the attention of security. Soon, there were several agents standing around talking in hushed tones — not that I could have understood what they were saying as my Spanish is muy poquito.

Finally, one of them pulled out the questionable item — a Costo-sized package of double-AA batteries. The best we could figure is they thought it was a package of bullets when viewing it through the baggage scanner.

Another time we arrived in the United States and were going through customs in Los Angeles. Once again, the x-ray machine seemed to alert on something in John’s bag. The agent asked what was in a side zipper compartment.

Trying to save her the odoriferous encounter of the running clothes he wore that morning — which, by then, were ripe after stewing in a plastic bag for hours — John said, “You don’t want to open that.”

Well, of course she did after a statement like that. I have sinus issues and my sense of smell isn’t that great, but I’m gagging now just thinking about it.

All of these experiences have added additional considerations when I’m packing. However, I still periodically raise the eyebrows of security agents as they come across weird items in my bag. Although, none have blinked an eye about my TENS machine during several post 9-11 flights when security is supposedly heightened — that’s a whole other column in itself.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.