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.