It’s Memorial Day and more families than not have someone to honor. Thankfully I have to go back to Dad’s brother, Uncle Bob, who was killed at age 17 as part of a skiing rifle brigade on an Italian mountainside. My dad was only 6 then, but when he was 60 he found the grave of the brother he’d scarcely known. He took a picture, and after I watched Saving Private Ryan, he showed me the photo and I wept. It was exactly like those crosses that open and close the film. Bob was a talented artist and draftsman I’d never know. I long for a world that doesn’t even need a Memorial Day. Until that time, more cooking and grilling together—that makes things better. Would that I could hover around the grill today with Read On »