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Thanksgiving, E.B. Day Three

Happy Thanksgiving! A quiet solitary day, blessed. Last night, an unaccustomed 3 1/2 hours in front of the TV: The Durrells in Corfu, Poldark, Madame Secretary, and John Oliver. Enjoyed all of them. Madame Secretary is an American fantasy I won’t watch again about a female Secretary of State, last night featuring a scene with former real S of S’s Madeline Albright, Colin Powell and of course Hillary, speaking passionately about the importance of American rights and freedoms, leading to an impassioned speech about same by the actress playing the part, followed by a shot of the magnificent American flag flapping regally outside the White House window.

I thought, I wonder who they think is watching this? Do they think people in the red States, Trump’s people, are watching lofty lefty Madame Secretary, with its feel-good sentiments? They’re watching Fox News on TV and Breitbart online. So what’s the point?

I’m getting cynical in my old age. But the others were as always delightful, especially Durrells – glorious.

Today, working – my bum going to sleep, I’ve been sitting here so long – and now rising to begin to put some order in my house, now that the reno is vastly reduced and I can figure out what goes where. Just Skyped with Lynn in Montpellier, and we started to talk about my visit next year. Woo hoo!

Here’s E.B. today, a few thoughts for the current Secretary of State, whoever he is:

December
1941 (America has entered the war)
The
passionate love of Americans for their America will have a lot to do with
winning the war. It is an odd thing though: the very patriotism on which we now
rely is the thing that must eventually be in part relinquished if the world is
ever to find a lasting peace and an end to these butcheries.
            To hold America in one’s thoughts is
like holding a love letter in one’s hand – it has so special a meaning. Since I
started to write this column snow has begun falling again; I sit in my room
watching the re-enactment of this age old phenomenon outside the window. For
this picture, this privilege, this cameo of New England with snow falling, I
would give everything. Yet all the time I know that this very loyalty, this
feeling of being part of a special place, this respect for one’s native scene –
I know that such emotions have had a big part in the world’s wars. Who is there
big enough to love the whole planet? We must find such people for the next
society.
October
1942
(about a
concert raising money for war bonds) After the band had performed, a young
Jewish soldier stepped forward and played a violin solo. For him there could be
nothing obscure about war aims. It was a war for the right to continue living
and the privilege of choosing his own composer when he played the fiddle. He
played solidly and well, with a strength that the Army had given his hands and
his spirit. The music seemed to advance boldly toward the enemy’s lines.
            Here, for a Nazi, was assembled in
one hall all that was contemptible and stupid – a patriotic gathering without
strict control from a central leader, a formless group negligently dressed …, a
group shamelessly lured there by a pretty girl for bait, a Jew in an honoured
position as artist, Negroes singing through their rich non-Aryan throats, and
the whole affair lacking the official seal of the Ministry of Propaganda – a
sprawling, goofy American occasion, shapeless as an old hat.
            It made me feel very glad to be
there. And somewhere during the evening, I picked up a strong conviction that
our side was going to win.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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Theresa Kishkan is a writer living on the Sechelt Peninsula on the west coast of Canada.

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Wherever you’ve come from, wherever you’re going, consider this space a place for reflection and pause.

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