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!