So this melancholy time of year, yet a time I find myself a bit prouder - head held a bit higher, has come around again.
And for the first time, I find myself in a different land for it. And not just any land. Where some of it happened. And believe me, when you see the land and the buildings here, if you look hard enough, you can still see it. When
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I found Remembrance Day in Europe to be a humbling experience. Actually *being* in Flanders' fields where the poppies grow. We saw and lived in so much of the history, it really was what we'd call "chicken skin" where I grew up; eerie. I jokingly called it our "Band of Brothers tour of Europe" because we shadowed their path so closely.
This last trip we visited Churchill's War Rooms in London, and it was well worth it. I am thinking of making a poppy to wear this Sunday, even though we don't hold that tradition here in the US anymore. It's a shame really; my grandparents did, every year.
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