This is the shortest, quickest blog post I’ve written in the now nine-month history of “Wherever you go, there you are.” I haven’t gone anywhere — well, actually, I have, but that’s another post.
This quote from Barbara Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life sums up my days perfectly:
April is the cruelest month, T.S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises it can’t keep, all passion is really a setup, and we’re doomed to get our hearts broken yet again. I agree, and would further add: Who cares? Every spring I go out there anyway, around the bend, unconditionally. … Come the end of the dark days, I am more than joyful. I’m nuts. ”
Except for my April 5 birthday this month, and some of March, has been cruel. A New Yorker cartoon by Alex Gregory was on the front of one of my birthday cards. Two dogs are chatting and one says to the other:
I had my own blog for a while, but I decided to go back to just pointless, incessant barking.”
Just so you’ll know, I still have my own blog, and I’ll be