It seems as though I barely have time to think anymore – and just when I think things are slowing down they speed up exponentially.
I did bring some of it on myself – and willingly so. How could I not go to England, Scotland? While my credit card temporarily creaks under its new load of charges I will long be able to recall the experience of visiting the collections storage areas of the British Museum, the Victoria & Albert, the Glasgow School of Art, and the Chesterfield Museum…does it sound trite to say that those experiences were priceless? To walk the streets of Norwich with the man who has revitalized them, and to be ravished by the sounds of evensong in the cathedral on a perfectly crystalline night…to stay on a farm on the Duke of Devonshire’s estate…can one really quantify that in dollars and pence?
To see old friends in a foreign land – to be savaged by the gales on the Royal Mile and slip so easily back into the Babbity Bowster in Glasgow…to gaze at the North Sea, shed a tear in the village of Eyam, and be received by the Lord Mayor of Chesterfield…how could I not?
So I have been silent for a time…but with good reason.