Before Coco met Otto on the beach today I wrote the following entry on my phone …
Despair To count the losses is to quantify life in terms of accumulations of love and hate as success dollar things Significant moments are wrapped around with ecstasy and suffering both, inside membrane that remains when matter has long passed
Mum and Dad dropped in the lamb leg bone with meat remaining so I can make them a shepherds pie for dinner. Dad would like a little meat left over for a sandwich tomorrow. I became enthusiastic when I considered how I could make gravy when there was none on hand and set the bone in the fridge until after our beach walk. Coco was excited about the prospect of the beach. Now she's exhausted, post-lunch sleeping, a curled up brown comma.
I'll take a look at the photos now and see if there's one of Otto, the black 'n tan dachshund, 18 months shiny, long, obsessed with a new found love of fetch the ball.
Despair believe or not, was written in a moment of clarity during the extended and continuing imploding of our family. By 'family' and 'our' I mean siblings, and parents, the one's I grew amongst rather than the children I had the luck to bring into the world.
After that clarification, and some organising, I can see there are a few photos of Otto and also of 4 planes in the sky, in formation, as if carrying the Ruler of The World, someone from the Twentieth Century perhaps. Certainly Greta won't be up there.
Ruler of The World
a twentieth century god