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So-o, yesterday was a complete wash, literally and figuratively: A chilly rain fell throughout most of the day. I did necessary chores but found myself incapable of engaging mentally in any way. I did absolutely no remunerative work but instead watched several episodes of Foyle’s War and imagined what it might have been like to live in wartime Britain.
As young people we have a distorted view of history, I suppose because we recognize its irrelevance. What matters is now! We have always been at war with Eastasia.
I was born a mere seven and a half years after World War II ended – roughly the same interval between now and the beginning of the subprime mortgage crisis that catapulted the U.S. into a mini-Depression. To people born this year, I suppose the subprime mortgage crisis will seem irrelevant.
I remember reading some John Lennon biographical memorabilia in which Lennon talks dismissively about World War II vets, how boring and irrelevant they were – Yes, yes, yes. Always thus.
We never understand the events that shaped our parents’ generation. In fact, we actively disapprove of them.
Foyle’s War does a very good job of showing that British victory was by no means a foregone conclusion. In fact, in 1940 and 1941 – right up to the Battle of Stalingrad in which 1.5 million soldiers died – imagine that! A million and a half corpses!!!!! – it was seeming increasingly unlikely that the Brits would prevail against Hitler.
In the afternoon, I accompanied L to a Christmas craft fair at a local high school.
Because of the weird way I was brought up, Christmas craft fairs in suburban high schools seem very exotic to me, understand. So wandering around one sets off the same neurons that would be activated if I happened to find myself in a market in Western Bhutan. (Bhutan, by the way, is the only country in the world which uses Gross National Happiness as an economic indicator.)
Nonetheless, this Christmas craft fair made me sick to my stomach. I think that had something to do with the fluorescent lighting in the gymnasium where it was taking place.
I did retail therapy. Bought several pairs of extraordinarily beautiful earrings for myself. Bought this scarf made of iridescent strands of fabric for the Future Mother of My Unborn Grandchildren. It shimmers when you wear it. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’d wear it myself except I’m too old and crone-like to get away with that.
Went to bed early. Woke up early. And here I am. Another Day. The great Western philosopher Scarlett O’Hara is fond of reminding us that another day will always come.
As young people we have a distorted view of history, I suppose because we recognize its irrelevance. What matters is now! We have always been at war with Eastasia.
I was born a mere seven and a half years after World War II ended – roughly the same interval between now and the beginning of the subprime mortgage crisis that catapulted the U.S. into a mini-Depression. To people born this year, I suppose the subprime mortgage crisis will seem irrelevant.
I remember reading some John Lennon biographical memorabilia in which Lennon talks dismissively about World War II vets, how boring and irrelevant they were – Yes, yes, yes. Always thus.
We never understand the events that shaped our parents’ generation. In fact, we actively disapprove of them.
Foyle’s War does a very good job of showing that British victory was by no means a foregone conclusion. In fact, in 1940 and 1941 – right up to the Battle of Stalingrad in which 1.5 million soldiers died – imagine that! A million and a half corpses!!!!! – it was seeming increasingly unlikely that the Brits would prevail against Hitler.
In the afternoon, I accompanied L to a Christmas craft fair at a local high school.
Because of the weird way I was brought up, Christmas craft fairs in suburban high schools seem very exotic to me, understand. So wandering around one sets off the same neurons that would be activated if I happened to find myself in a market in Western Bhutan. (Bhutan, by the way, is the only country in the world which uses Gross National Happiness as an economic indicator.) Nonetheless, this Christmas craft fair made me sick to my stomach. I think that had something to do with the fluorescent lighting in the gymnasium where it was taking place.
I did retail therapy. Bought several pairs of extraordinarily beautiful earrings for myself. Bought this scarf made of iridescent strands of fabric for the Future Mother of My Unborn Grandchildren. It shimmers when you wear it. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’d wear it myself except I’m too old and crone-like to get away with that.
Went to bed early. Woke up early. And here I am. Another Day. The great Western philosopher Scarlett O’Hara is fond of reminding us that another day will always come.
