C'est la vie . . .

Mi-novembre. Pluvieux. Frais. Moon dogs up in the somewhat starry sky. Lots new, perhaps too much new, to take the time to write. Dozens of loaves of ciabatta baked, hundreds of cookies, travels to the snow and the mountains, the forest and the coast. Family celebrations and tears. One school year melts into the past. The next one rushes forward. One daughter becoming a teenage. The other a young woman. Friends moving away and returning. Birth & death. Frustration and love. C'est la vie. Might as well dance. To Khaled, or perhaps an old tune from when I was but a lad . . .