Canada

This made me laugh!

As we await the latest heresy from the Great Orange Leader, I came across this revised map. It's too good not to share.

Jigsaw

 

Jigsaw

This is another small wooden jigsaw of oddly shaped pieces. It’s called ‘Summer Badgers’ by Lucy Grossmith, and has eighty-three pieces. Unlike other jigsaws, the pieces do not fit closely together.

It was fiddly, but fun to do. I have some ‘normal’ jigsaws to do one of these days. Not yet, though, as I need the dining room table for Sunday lunch.

I can’t lay out a jigsaw anywhere that the cats might access, as they are attracted to them and will stretch across them, even as I attempt to put the pieces together.

Why do we do jigsaws? What’s the point? I know some people frame them, but I’ve never been inclined to do that. I suppose it’s a challenge, a way of bringing order out of chaos. My time would be more usefully occupied in domestic chores, but where’s the fun in those? Move the dust around and it will settle somewhere else. Mop up the spatters and someone will spill something more.

I know there are badger setts in the woods, but have never discovered them, or perhaps I just haven’t recognised them. Occasionally, I see a dead badger on the side of the road – always a sad sight – but haven’t seen a live badger for an exceptionally long time.

In memoriam

 

In memoriam

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

A yellow ribbon signifies support for, and recognition of, missing children, suicide prevention, and military troops among other causes. Recently it has been used in Israel as a symbol of their hostages.

It was also used by Americans for the same reason during the 1979 Iran hostage crisis. In the 1990-1991 Gulf War, the yellow ribbon was once more used to show support, and hope for the safe return of troops.

The use of the yellow ribbon traces its origins back to the 17^th century, when the soldiers of Oliver Cromwell’s Puritan army wore yellow sashes. These made it easier to identify allies on the battlefield.

April 9^th is National Yellow Ribbon Day in the USA for all Americans to recognise and venerate military personnel and their families.

 

The following short story is one I wrote a few years ago.

They had painted the house the year their son joined the army. He had helped them during his final leave before embarkation. The colour was not quite what they had intended, and they had wanted to repaint it immediately, but he had persuaded them to wait.

‘We’ll do it next time I’m home,’ he said, and they had agreed. Instead, they had tied yellow ribbons round the trees in the front garden, constant reminders, should they need them, of his continued absence.

On the day they were informed that he was missing in action, believed killed, they went out and tied fresh yellow ribbons to the trees. Until they had a body to bury, they would not believe that their boy was gone, and so, when the ribbons tattered and frayed into fine filaments, they replaced them proudly and with loving care.

Years passed, and they reluctantly began to accept that their son might never return. The fabric of the building was deteriorating, and it seemed as if it waited, heartsore like them, for the young man’s return. To refurbish it would feel like a betrayal and somehow it felt fitting that the house should shrink into itself, just as they were doing.

Quietly, uncomplainingly, they advanced into old age, and as the paintwork peeled, so their eyes grew dim until one day, peacefully, they closed for the final time and saw no more. The house crumbled into disrepair, but the trees remained, remnants of yellow satin grown into their bark, a permanent memorial to a young life lost, and to undiminished love and hope.