What a week. Andre has been moved to Intensive Care, Benazir Bhutto is dead, they still haven't found Cedrika, Boxing Day has come and gone, chaos reigns; meanwhile there's snow to be shoveled, laundry to be folded, soup to be made, that neglected story to be rewritten ....
This morning when I went out to walk the neighbor's little dog, the air smelled srongly of pine, the sky was an intense blue, and with the fresh coat of snow from last night, everything felt all new and wonderful and possible again. Until I turn on the news and get reminded that my little patch of reality is just that--a mere drop in the vast sea of Everything. Well, I don't know what to think of the eventual repercussions of these latest events in Pakistan and how this will all play out vis-a-vis the prevailing nuclear phobia (e.g., who's minding the nukes over there?). Meanwhile, the pressing little daily chores intervene. Good news: Yvon will reconvene our French conversation group the first week of January, woo hoo!
Trois-Rivieres, over and out. Gotta go shovel snow.
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