Picking up from last week's post, this is the sight I'm greeted with every morning when I return from my daily constitutional. You gotta love a narcissi.
In a few hours, my gorgeous daughter, Jo, is treating me to a meal at the Kings Arms in Mickleton in lieu of tomorrow’s celebration.
Hopefully I’ll remember to take some pix and share them here.
Yesterday. My fabulous hubby, Brian, made a comment about the timing of this celebration, because the house is filled with my favourite flowers from our garden, namely daffodils and camelia. That’ll be where the missing vase went then!
I
knew I had a spare vase on the kitchen windowsill, but when I went to put a few blooms in it to brighten Jo’s room it wasn’t there. Here’s me ranting about how I must be going crazy, hoping to prompt him into owning up he’d broken it, but he focussed really hard on the gadget he was fixing. Some kind of detective I am – the clues were all there! Got there in the end, though.
His comment was off the back of my annual rant about how Mother’s day always falls on the shortest day of the year (literally only 23 hours long because they rob us of an hour), and it’s usually far too cold to sit outside.
Whereas Father’s day falls within a week of the longest day of the year and all the gang are pretty much guaranteed to turn up and share an al fresco meal. But not a barbie since we retired it due to lack of use!
I first noticed the disparity when I was heavily into pagan rituals, travelling down to Avebury every solstice to watch the sun rise and join in the celebrations with drumming, fire-poi and awesome ales from the Red Lion.
Many times, it fell on Father’s day and I’d have to do the rounds of my hubby, his father and my father before I could even think about driving down there. But I somehow managed it.
Nowadays, I’m happy just to raise a glass on the evening before and light a candle. You can pretty much guarantee I’m up at sunrise to go for a pee, so I always look East and fire off a blessing.