Poppies

In retrospect yesterday was one of those days, when after a most enjoyable and happy weekend, things were going too well.

It turned out to be the calm before the storm; a storm caused by a family member which necessitated His Lordship spending 8 hours in A&E in a parental role.
It's just as well one can't see in advance what can go wrong to spoil little oases of calm and pleasure.

It was back to the fracture clinic this afternoon to check on the progress of my shoulder. I offered to take the bus and let his Lordship catch up on his beauty sleep, but he insisted on driving me and waiting while X rays were taken; poor guy, ten hours in ERI in the last 24 I feared he was going to take root.

A short wait with the great unwashed and broken, and two X-rays later, I had an audience with one of the heid bummers in orthopaedics who told me when I introduced myself, that daughter #2 looked like me. I'm not sure the latter will be too delighted when I tell her this; it's not always acceptable to look like your mama.

My blip is of the long stemmed poppies gifted to me by Gillipaw in front of a painting by Anna Constantinou, a friend of ours.

The theme of the painting, chaos or dense cosmic energy giving way to hope with a sublime spirit of perfection at the centre, depicted here with gold leaf, was, I thought, a very apposite background for the poppies, the emblem of Remembrance day.