The Flower of the Day
Sunday was a day of worship. Richard and I took the opportunity to worship with the congregation of Christ is our Hope. We have regularly worshipped with the folks at Grande Marais at least once a year. This year was a little different, we parked our Motor Home outside Pastor Schutte's and Sandra's home in Lutsen. Other than going to Duluth for our annual clothes shopping trip, we have spent the rest of our time in the Grande Marais area.
Richard thought it was prudent for me to take another day of rest. The pain of the last two days is gone; but best to not aggravate it again too soon. Other than attending the church service, we spent a very quiet day in the Motor Home: reading and sleeping and, of course, working on my computer.
The Butter Cup reminds me of my childhood in West Sussex. There, as children, we would run around with a butter cup in our hand to place it under the chin of those around us to see if they liked butter. Such a simple act; but so fascinating to our young minds, that a flower would reflect on our chins its yellow colour. I loved collecting wildflowers and bringing them home to Mum for her to put in a jam-jar and place on the table.
Other times of flower picking were during the bluebell season and primrose season; both times we would go out as a family, pushing Mum in her wheelchair to collect enough flowers to decorate the church for Sunday Services. Every window ledge, the organ and piano, the Altar Table and rail would all be adorned with the work of our young hands. Now you are not allowed to pick wildflowers or dig them up to transplant into your own garden. Were times so much more simpler when I was a child or is it just as children we see things in a simpler manner?