If the wind blows just right four times a day we can hear a deep throated
whistle blast from our downtown fire station. It has been this way for
decades back into the past century. Eight A.M. signals the beginning of the
workday. Noon signals lunch. Six P.M. signals the end of the workday and 9
P.M. reminds people to tend to stoves and lanterns before going to bed.
It's nice. It's a tie to a past that seems to be rushing away from us. The
sound of the blast from the firehouse almost makes one think if one went
down to the firehouse one would see firemen busy putting big fire horses up
for the night under the watchful eye of a Dalmatian.

People need to remember. We need to be reminded of our roots. It's a value
system grounded in hard work and simplicity. Our traditions tell us who we
are. We are not refugees in a sea of angst. We are travelers with purpose
and goals. We care about community and neighbors. The neighborhood school
isn't there merely for our children but for all children with dreams and
ambitions. The local little league baseball teams or the football or soccer
leagues get us out of our electronically sequestered lives and we see and
talk to real people just like ourselves.

Families need traditions and customs that tie each to each. Modernity fills
us with so many weekday responsibilities we must make efforts to make Friday
nights, Saturdays and Sundays special. Sitting around the table actually
looking at each other as we talk and eat, going to church, taking a weekend
jaunt together, these are the things our children will remember and cherish
after we are gone. These give us identity.