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D-Day Ohio 2017

I had another great year at D-Day Ohio and, per usual, returning to the 21st century after such a fantastic event was a challenge. 2017 marked my third year as a member of the French resistance, and this year I was armed with a new weapon—a reproduction German Walther P38. It was super fun (and loud) to shoot! Besides portraying a French resistance fighter, my sister and I also joined the American Red Cross Clubmobile, otherwise known as the Donut Dollies. We had a very full weekend! 

Hanging out with a downed airman before the battle ... 

It was quite a feat getting him into that tree. Some German soldiers came over with their tank to help!

A battle begins ... 

During one of my (many) deaths, a German soldier rifled through my backpack and found a map. There I was lying on the ground watching all these boots form around me and hearing angry German soldiers shouting from above. Such fun. 

I just can't keep a straight face ... 

 The French farm house ... 

Looking very serious during Operation Jedburgh Training ... 

And not so serious!

Some snapshots of camp life ... 

After the battle of Foucarville, we welcomed our Airborne liberators ... 

Now some pictures of the Donut Dollies! We gave donuts and candy cigarettes to soldiers en route to the D-Day invasion ... 

USO dance ... 

It was so much fun chatting with Liberty from Operation Meatball!

To finish this post off, I have to share this adorable picture someone shared on the D-Day gallery. The cutest. 

Vive la resistance! 


Snippet of a Story

Long time no post! Just to prove I haven't dropped off the face of the blogging world, I dug out this excerpt from a story that's still a work-in-progress. (Virtual high five to anyone who can identify the young man in this picture!)

I hadn’t planned to get caught.

I was told this mountain pass wasn’t regularly patrolled. All I had to do was find a safe path to the Romanian border, and on to Palestine. So many are counting on me to save them. So many are counting on me to get them to Eretz Israel.

And I failed.

The border guard takes his time unfolding the map, dragging out my misery. He gives it a long shake and surveys it through narrowed eyes. “Treasonous Zionist activities will not be left unpunished.” His voice is low as he rips my map into shreds. I watch as a gale snatches them into its lively embrace. My path to freedom dances through the wind toward the mountain pass. The bitter irony bites into my skin.

Run. Run toward the scraps of freedom flying through the air. Escape.

I cast a cautious glance at the guard who is enjoying the mess he has created in the sky, and that’s when I make the decision to run. I tear through the two horses, brushing against their warm skin. I don’t stop, even as I hear the whinny of horses and the beating of their hooves as they gain on me in mere seconds. The sight of pine trees bending in the breeze are blocked now by the blur of horses as they cut me off from freedom.

The border guard jumps down, grabs my wrists and locks them into cold iron fetters. He’s shouting furiously in Russian as he lodges his pistol into my back.

Is this the last time I’ll taste the crisp air, see the sunlight spread its long fingers across the fields? The taste of freedom dissipates, blown away to honeymoon with the shreds of paper floating toward Zion.