We spent last weekend with good friends who have a home on a lake. There were three couples there plus Charlie, a super-cute, super-friendly cross between a golden retriever and a poodle. It rained all weekend, and that left a lot of time for conversation, reading and a new-to-us form of Scrabble called Upwords.
Charlie’s “mother,” a faithful reader of this blog, asked me why I never write about sex, religion, or politics. I thought that was a very good question, and so I have given it some thought.
I believe that so far my feelings about being 70-something are not influenced much by my politics or my religion. Sex is anther story, but one I don’t want to tell. (After all, my children read this.) Further, if I wanted to write about sex, politics and religion, I’d write a novel, not a blog.
It was a great weekend until our departure. Charlie thinking that we were going out for a walk pulled his leash from the coat rack and in the process pulled it over. The only thing between it and the floor was my cheek. So I have been spending more time explaining the big lump on my cheek than thinking about religion, politics and sex.
At least so far.