Today is the 11th day of the 11th month on which we celebrate the ending of the war to end all wars. I don’t think a lot of people really understand how that war (WWI) began. I certainly don’t. Something about the assassination of an archduke. Today it honors all veterans from all those other wars that weren’t supposed to happen.
Armistice Day means red poppies. If you’re out and about you may run into a veteran selling them. This traditional started with a poem.
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In Flanders Fields by John McCrae
McCrae was a Canadian doctor who, legend has it, wrote the poem from the back of an ambulance. Poppies leech the blood from battlefields and in the spring, cover the ground with a sea of red. A sight to see indeed, if not such a stark reminder.
My grandfather did not die in France; he returned to his family and lived a long life.The wounds he suffered were not visible to the naked eye. And he didn’t talk about them.
I’m actually quite mortified that a bit of rain has kept a president of the United States from attending ceremonies honoring the fallen of WWI. It didn’t stop the troops from fighting and losing their lives. Shame on him.