missing my umbrella at the Warsaw parade

Yesterday we were in Warsaw to see a historical parade commemorating the independence of Poland. In 1918, at the end of World War I, today's Poland was freed from the Austria-Hungarian, German and Russian Empires.
It was a great day, my only problem was that I couldn't find my itty bitty umbrella in my cool purse for which I made the fisherman's vest dividers. That, however is beside the point.

From from Angela's camera

Standing there in the rain with the Poles, watching the historical parade of the different regiments in the history of Poland from the rebel army before independence to today's troops made me feel very small.
Let me explain: Yesterday I remembered the 5th grade me. That was the first time I'd ever heard a "polack" joke - it could have been about how many of them it takes to screw in a light bulb, or something similarly enlightening. Being an immature grade schooler I thought it was funny of course. I didn't know what was meant by a "polack", just that it was someone dumber than me. Of course I went on to tell this little joke, and others like it to anyone with patience to listen, until my mom overheard me. It precipitated one of the few lectures that I can actually recollect. She told me that what I was calling a "polack" were real people from a real country, a country called Poland. The people who live there are properly known as Poles. They are Polish, not, "polacks", a derogatory, ignorant term. Poles are hardworking people who love their country. They have fought for their country. After their capitol was bombed to the ground in World War II they rebuilt it with their own hands. Before the Soviet occupation they were a proud and talented people. Poland has produced famous musicians, composers and writers. Don't ever tell "polack" jokes again. Poland, their country which they love has been taken away from them, but they still love their homeland and want to be free again.
I did not appreciate or care for that speech, my Norwegian mother obviously didn't understand sophisticated grade school humor.
But I never forgot it.
And I remembered it again as we stood in the rain near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in one of Warsaw's many beautiful parks. We stood watching the stirring sight of different military regiments parade past us,

From from Angela's camera

after having laid wreaths of flowers on the tomb.

From from Angela's camera

All the while we stood shoulder to shoulder with Poles in the rain who let me stand under their big umbrellas in the Warsaw rain, because I couldn't find my own.
By the time the opening ceremonies are over I'm so glad I'm not a soldier, glad I don't have to spend the night in a pup tent, because I'm wet and cold. My two fellow companions on this outing decide to deposit me at a cafe so they can go and enjoy the sites of chilly, wet Warsaw.
At the cafe I get a table near the radiator and drape my scarf and gloves over it to dry them off, then look through my purse for any errant zloty to pay for an Americano - and what do I find? The last gift my mom gave me before I left home last summer, my tiny black totes umbrella nestled within the vast recesses of my diplomats bag.
So now, who's the polack?

From My drawings