When I set out to post something this morning, I found that I’ve been a bit bereft of words lately. Or maybe not bereft of words – there are always words – maybe bereft of emotions, of tears for lives lost, of feelings of worth. And where there is no passion to breathe into them, words are empty and meaningless.
I didn’t connect to Sandy Hook. I heard the news from friends over dinner, I heard it on the radio the next morning, and I read about it on blogs. But we don’t watch television so there were no images or ongoing stories to connect to. That’s probably better for me because I still find myself staring at my children’s faces (who are in the targeted age range), and imagining …
And the one year anniversary of my miscarriage is approaching (Dec 26th), and although this holiday season is a much easier period than I feared, there might be some undercurrents of sadness that I’m not connected to. Not that I wish to conjure up imaginary ills …
And my husband is away in Scotland – in Glasgow (the coolest English accent in the world) – just for the veriest stay, but I always seem to float a little when my rock is not here.
And the dog. Oh – the dog. What a steep learning curve there is with this scrap of pedigree fur. (A little piece of amusement for you. His name is Hunter de Rocancourt. He has a “de” in front of his last name, which denotes aristocracy. You can trace his lineage back quite a few generations).
He is a puppy still, but he also has a dominant nature. I – who am afraid of dogs – find myself grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and carrying him back to his crate that way, or holding him in the submissive position with one hand on his front paws and one hand on the scruff of his neck until he relents. Usually he’ll jump back up again and nip at me so that I have to put him in submission about five times before he finally lets it go.
When the vet showed me how to do that, he whined and squeaked as he does with me, but she said, “Ca c’est du cirque, ça.” He’s putting on a circus act for you – don’t be fooled. It doesn’t hurt him.
And so I’m 100% in charge while Sir is away, including the 2 AM pee breaks in the cold and dark. And no, we still don’t regret getting a dog – we’ve just incorporated the hassle for the next three years of training and education (which is apparently necessary for this breed of hunting dogs we have chosen).
I think I’m a little lonely in social media – my connection to other bloggers, which I’m pretty convinced has to do with selfishness (mine), but that’s another post for another day.
See? I told you I wasn’t bereft of words. But here are some morning light pictures, from where I’m sitting, that must do in the place of passion.