It has been reported that when Harold Macmillan, who served
as Prime Minister of Great Britain from
1957 to 1963, was asked what he feared most, he replied, “Events, dear
boy, events.”
I am aware that less than a month ago, when I began this
blog, I promised to post at least once a week. But all I can plead as a reason
for breaking my promise so soon, is to paraphrase Harold Macmillan: Events,
dear reader, events. Events both personal and international.
On October 27, our wonderful ex-racing Greyhound, Bingley,
let us know that it was time to for us to ease his journey to doggie heaven.
And if ever a dog deserved a beautiful hereafter, it was our boy, Bingley. He
brightened our lives for more than seven and a half years, bringing smiles and
laughter to friends and strangers. He had celebrated his twelfth birthday on
September 5: a ripe old age for any Greyhound, even more so for one who had
been subjected to the harsh realities of the racing circuit in his early years.
We longed for another year, and another. It was not to be, so we are reminding
ourselves to be grateful for the time we had him in our lives. But the rhythm
of our lives has changed
We have focused on our surviving dog, Magic, who has never
before been an only dog. We recognize that she is a little disoriented from
time to time. And truth be told, we probably are, too.
Then, a week ago this past Friday, November 13, I was ready
to leave for an afternoon of knitting at my local knit shop, Yarning for You.
Before I left, I decided to check the news. There was a report of a shooting at
a café in Paris and a link to France 24. For hours, I sat, transfixed in
horror, watching the unfolding massacre in The City of Light. I continued to be
so absorbed by events in Europe, I forgot about my blogging promise.
Such are the perils of a writer’s life. Especially this
writer, who can be discipline challenged.
But I promise, the next post will be about cul-de-sacs!
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