Slow traveling gives me time to participate in unanticipated events. I’m in Reims. Famous for its beautiful, beautiful cathedral. I’m entering a square and I hear a trumpeter practicing. On one side of the square three police vans are parked. After asking one friendly policeman what is happening, I learn that there are ceremonies for V-E Day, victory in Europe.

An hour later and half-a- mile away, I’m joining 200 people. A man with a microphone and an official looking “ Radio” armband starts to ask me a question. I do that universal gesture of ignorance; I shrug my shoulders and raise both hands palms upward. “I speak English.” He smiles and walks away.

The ceremony begins with 30-40 soldiers accompanied by their large service dogs, followed by a less uniformed group, and then about 15 officers from different military branches. They stand at attention as older veterans bearing very old looking flags of different military units march toward the monument and fan out across its front.

Despite loving to attend Memorial Day ceremonies as a kid at Virden Cemetery (all the kids would race to collect shell casings after the soldiers fired their rifles), l haven’t attended one in years. I do know what to expect though. A band plays “La Marseillaise.” Later, a violenist plays a beautiful solo. After several obviously high ranking officers move to the center, five soldiers from different branches march forward and receive medals which are pinned on their uniforms.

I know that there has to be speeches. The speech-making begins with short speeches by 4-5 young people; the speech making continues with the main honored guest (even I know that he is talking about liberty and justice from his French words). Then another speaker begins. Initially, I can’t understand why he speaks, only to then hear somebody else speak in French. Heh neat, a responsive speech! Then I say to myself “You dunderhead! He is Ukrainian!” There is a Ukrainian flag fifteen feet from him; there are two young boys in the front row another fifteen feet from him, one in a blue shirt and one in a yellow shirt. He is speaking Ukrainian. Ukraine is also being remembered.

The ceremony rightfully remembers the past and honors those who had served. Probably many of us had relatives who fought in WW2. Mary’s dad, Dwight Parken, manned the rear gun of his B-17 that flew over Normandy on D-Day. I think of him and the many others. I think of all those French village war memorials that I’ve seen these past three weeks, the WW1 dead listed on one side and the WW2 dead listed on another side.

The ceremony rightfully addresses the present. More than we in the United States, several Europeans that I’ve talked to are angry at Putin’s unleashing war on European soil. These Europeans don’t want war. But, they are sympathetic to Ukrainians plight; they know they must do something.

Reims is famous for the cathedral. Reims is famous for something else. One hundred yards from where I and others stood for this ceremony is a school building. After Hitler committed suicide on April 30th, Allied generals and the German High Command met there for Germany’s unconditional surrender. The documents signed on May 7th stipulated that hostilities would cease on May 8th. However, we celebrate VE Day on May 8th. The Soviets claimed that there needed to be another signing since their representative in Reims did not have the authority to sign such a document. Thus, on May 8th in Berlin, a second signing ceremony occurred with hostilities ending on May 9th.

War. Peace. War. Peace. War. Maybe time for more Peace.