I've been writing posts over the past weeks about knitting, about adventures with Hudson, dipping my toe back into sewing clothes for myself. Yesterday I wrote about our trip to France last week. This morning I planned to add photos and post it.
But every time I'm set to hit "Publish" it seems another terrible event occurs somewhere in the world making me feel small and selfish to go on about stitching with linen or running around with my my crazy-fluffy white poodle.
There is so much sadness and pain about, some of which we've been close to just a very few days ago.
Last week we were in France. Our trip started in Nantes where we were part of an international group. There I had, as my dinner companions one night, some Texans from Dallas and the conversations eventually turned to gun control and semi automatic weapons and of course just hours later, the horrible shootings occurred there.
At lunch one day a representative from Instanbul spoke to the assembly, encouraging people to visit her city with assurances of security.
Waiting for a train to Paris I spoke with a man from San Diego who expressed concern about his Republican Party back home.
In Paris we enjoyed beautiful summer days and evenings, watched Euro Cup games in open air cafes and visited museums crammed with tourists from across the globe. All friendly and peaceable.
But there were armed police patrolling the streets and guarding facilities, full body scans and bag checks necessary to gain access to department stores.
Refugee families, with small children, sat on the streets begging, young refugee men trying to make any money they could selling cold bottled water and beer to tourists.
On our flight home a young teenaged boy sitting with his dad in the seats across the aisle from us had a violent seizure. He received immediate care from generous doctors and paramedics on the flight but I'm haunted by the image of his parents, sister and grandparents enduring the hours and hours remaining in the flight and I keep hoping he's now okay.
Meanwhile, Number One Son is currently travelling home today after two years in Europe. He'll take two trains and three flights to get here and he's already been delayed at the Paris Airport where he'll likely now spend the night. I'll figuratively holding my breath until he arrives but it isn't lost on me, unlike so many others, we are among the luckiest of parents this morning.
Sigh.
But every time I'm set to hit "Publish" it seems another terrible event occurs somewhere in the world making me feel small and selfish to go on about stitching with linen or running around with my my crazy-fluffy white poodle.
There is so much sadness and pain about, some of which we've been close to just a very few days ago.
Last week we were in France. Our trip started in Nantes where we were part of an international group. There I had, as my dinner companions one night, some Texans from Dallas and the conversations eventually turned to gun control and semi automatic weapons and of course just hours later, the horrible shootings occurred there.
At lunch one day a representative from Instanbul spoke to the assembly, encouraging people to visit her city with assurances of security.
Waiting for a train to Paris I spoke with a man from San Diego who expressed concern about his Republican Party back home.
In Paris we enjoyed beautiful summer days and evenings, watched Euro Cup games in open air cafes and visited museums crammed with tourists from across the globe. All friendly and peaceable.
But there were armed police patrolling the streets and guarding facilities, full body scans and bag checks necessary to gain access to department stores.
Refugee families, with small children, sat on the streets begging, young refugee men trying to make any money they could selling cold bottled water and beer to tourists.
On our flight home a young teenaged boy sitting with his dad in the seats across the aisle from us had a violent seizure. He received immediate care from generous doctors and paramedics on the flight but I'm haunted by the image of his parents, sister and grandparents enduring the hours and hours remaining in the flight and I keep hoping he's now okay.
Meanwhile, Number One Son is currently travelling home today after two years in Europe. He'll take two trains and three flights to get here and he's already been delayed at the Paris Airport where he'll likely now spend the night. I'll figuratively holding my breath until he arrives but it isn't lost on me, unlike so many others, we are among the luckiest of parents this morning.
Sigh.