"He who lives this day and comes safe home will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors and say 'tomorrow is St Crispins.' Then shall he strip his sleeve and show his scars and say 'these wounds I had on Crispin's day.' Old men forget, yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day.... This story shall the good man teach his son...."
~Henry V, William Shakespeare
A year ago
I posted on the significance of this day for me-- a suitable arbitrary date to mark the end of my court battles, for better and worse. I will have to feast my neighbors virtually again this year, but I didn't want the date to go unremember'ed.
Things are better, and worse since then. I haven't seen my other kids, the three in the same household since April, and the adoptive mom isn't replying to my letters trying to set anything up. I feel guilty sometimes, that I don't miss them more. What kind of mom am I? But I am busy continuing to build something good out of the shambles I've managed to make of my life, and to build something good for my wee hob.
It's good to take a time out and reflect on the achievement that is. Human beings have such a fascinating ability to survive, and even to thrive in the most horrible and unlikely of circumstances. When I am in a receptive, not-pissed-off-at-God mood, I have to admit that's as good an argument for Divine Providence as anything I can think of. That people can, sometimes, get through it, show each other kindness and compassion, keep getting up no matter how many times they get knocked down. Not that everybody does, of course. But that anybody
does is kind of amazing, when you think about it. That I did is downright humbling.
So, neighbors, draw a virtual mug of ale, bitters, wine, or your other beverage of choice, and drink a toast to-- what? Survival? Friends, certainly. Perseverance. You suggest something. And share, if you like, something you're proud you survived with scars and memories, and something worth passing on.