Garabato.

The anniversary of traumatic events is always difficult. Last year I celebrated my re-birthday with a lovely new garden chair and the equally lovely Buster. The chair is still there but he is not - it's still so sad. I'd hoped to celebrate with a meal out but we're still too careful to do that: will we ever again? I was never very outgoing but this damn pandemic has depleted my ability to be around people to near zero, and I can't see a way out of this even if it all miraculously went away tomorrow. The news too is unwatchable and unthinkable. I did get out for a short while though, to take an orchid in a pot to the lovely lady in the next street who was widowed recently and visibly still struggling. I have no right to complain about trivial things.
This is how I spent part of my 10th anniversary of not dying when my brain exploded; a doodle on the computer. The picture it's based on is in extras.