A Slightly Wordy Wordless Wednesday

Today is Christmas Eve. The question is - what to post on Christmas Eve? Last Christmas Eve I didn't post anything. I wasn't blogging every day then. NaBloPoMo was done and there was discussion about concerning blog365 - who would do something so crazy as to blog for 365 days straight? Who COULD do it? Anyway, THIS is my first Christmas Eve post, EVER, and I have been wondering what to post. What to say?

I look back over this last year and I realize I have been given so many, many gifts. I have met so many really great, really lovely people. I have done things and gone places I'll remember the rest of my life. But one stands out in my mind; a special gift, a special place, a special remembrance.

I left the group I was with and walked across a quarter of London to visit a statue commemorating a Celtic woman who lived thousands of years ago. Below I reprint the post I put up detailing that visit to the statue of Boudicea or Budicca or however you wish to spell her name. It doesn't matter how you spell it - just that you remember the woman whose name it is. Once you know the story, you'll never forget her.

At the south end of Westminster Bridge in London, England, stands a statue raised in honor of a woman from the dim mists of Britain's past. It is only through the memory of her enemy that we know of her, at all. The Romans wrote things down. They kept accurate accounts of the things they did; enemies they encountered, battles they won, battles they lost. And they wrote about Boudicea. They told the story of their own treachery and the terrible things they did to this woman and her daughters. They recounted the battles they lost to her; the cities she burned, the garrisons she routed. But in the end, the histories are written by the victors. And so it is that she lost the war, ultimately. And though the Romans tell us she was tall, and striking in appearance, they also tell us she took poison to avoid being captured. Knowing what awaited her at the hands of the Romans, there are few who would blame her for taking her own life. In the end, she died as she lived; in charge, in control, in command.

The statue, shown below, is black and cold and does not impress as much as the expectation. It sits amid trees and street lamps and crowds and traffic. One cannot stand at a distance and take it all in. Quarters are too tight. The bridge road is too close. Across the road, fences limit your movement. The House of Commons is there - the fences protect. So you see this as you approach:




And this you see as you stand at the base of her statue, looking up:



But walk around behind her, and down the walkway along the Thames. Then turn around and look back to see this:



This is what the sculptor had in his mind when he created this statue. That building is the House of Commons. The seat of power in this, the Land of Boudicea. She is the Mage, conjuring the future, calling forth the courage and spirit of these people to build tall structures for freedom and liberty and to make them of lasting, immutable stone. Here I saw her power and her majesty and I knew why I had to see her. I needed to know that she has been properly remembered. And she has.


As a further demonstration of the Christmas Spirit, please read the next paragraph, AGAIN, and click through and help Zoeyjane's drive for revenue to donate to this charity spoken of in the links.


Zoeyjane of Mommy is Moody is DOING something. She is donating all the revenue from her advertisements on her site, for this month, to To Write Love On Her Arms. Go to Zoeyjane's site and read This Post. She gets paid by 'Impressions'. Just going there helps. Click on her ads - and help more. Click through to To Write Love On Her Arms and see what they do. Just doing that will help, too. This paragraph is going to appear at the end of each post, each day until the end of the month. As a reminder. Just click through. And help. Save the women and men and boys and girls that don't need to live without love, that don't need to suffer addiction and depression, that don't need to die.


Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas.

I love you all.

Ndinombethe.