Thank You

On the occasion of Thanksgiving Day my first inclination is to be cleverly dismissive. It would be such an easy thing to do. God knows, I'm certain the irony of the occasion would not be lost on many.

Still, the more I reflect on the occasion the more I come to understand that it isn't so much the holiday itself which I find objectionable. It's the implied injunction to be thankful. The glibly imperious assertion that on this day one must be thankful!

But then I realize I can often be ungenerous in my judgements, and I find I overstate the case. No one is demanding that I be thankful. Actually, I think myself a little unkind in seeking to attack the impulse of others to give thanks for those things which enrich their lives.

Truth be told, I must admit that even in the midst of my crippled isolation I have good things in my life for which I find myself giving thanks every day. Thus, for me to seek to show a clever contempt toward Thanksgiving Day would be a sort of petty hypocrisy.

I give thanks for the kind attentions of good friends. Without them so many things in this life would be so much more difficult.

I give thanks for the feeling that I have all I need for what I want. It is sadly true that while so many in this world know the true nature of want, there are many who don't realize that a warm home and a full cupboard really are reasons to be thankful.

I give thanks that I can take pleasure in the small joys and the little beauties which fill my world almost every day. It saddens me to realize that many never know the awe and wonder of ordinary things.

It is true that far too many appear to have nothing in their lives for which to be thankful. This world is often a place of fearful anxiety and abject misery. Upon reflection I can find no good reason to attack peoples' wish to give thanks for what little good they do have.

I give thanks for the blessings which Fortune allows.

As for myself, No Thanks for the miseries.

B & B

"And what did you do this Saturday evening?"

"Oh, the usual, Sieur le Duc. I tarried in the national library, poring over ancient archives."

"Exciting stuff, that!"

"You might be surprised. There's no telling what you can run across, sometimes. I once found a piece of the Shroud of Turin someone had used as a bookmark. In a volume of Symbolist poetry, of all things."

"How did you know . . . oh, never mind."

"But yesterday evening I was doing genealogical research, on my mother's side."

"Wasn't she Alsatian?"

"I thought Moravian, but I'm not sure. Ergo, the research. How about you?"

"So glad you asked! Last night I had the immense pleasure of going to the theatre to watch a sterling performance of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST."

"Surely you're not referring to that grim and shadowy thing by Cocteau? That's a little harsh for cold late autumn nights.

"No, no! This was the musical, directed by my good friend Gilles. With the troupe of Les Arts Créatif du Spectacle."

"Oh, CAPA."

"Well, yeeeesss . . .roughly translated, of course."

"Roughly. Gilles. Isn't he the poet?"

"Yes and no. She's a director by profession, though also a poet by nature. It was through her kind offices that I was encouraged to attend the production. And I must say it was one of the most pleasant Saturday evenings I've experienced in a long while. From the outset I was tendered invaluable assistance by Sieur Ahedeen."

"Moroccan?"

"Algerian, actually. He showed me to an outstanding seat. There was a gaggle of young theatre people nearby, and he playfully admonished them to exercise courtesy toward the old man. One young person (une vrai bebe) challenged him by asking 'What for?'"

"Ho!"

"I know. I love it when the young challenge authority. They are far less likely to run blindly to their deaths simply because the elders, well, just want them to. Anyway, she thought it might have something to do with my hat!"

"Ho, ho! Oh, the young people these days. Charming."

"Anyway, while sitting awaiting the show to begin I was kindly greeted by Ste. Cyr, Marquesse de Coigne, as well as Gilles' good friend, Victoria. Hmmmm . . . I've just now come to realize how much I so enjoy the company of attractive women. They're so much more delightful than, well, you, for instance. No offense intended."

"And none taken, my friend. Even I enjoy the company of attractive women more than my own. Also, I presumed that your notoriety as a rake was not wholly undeserved."

"Really? A rake? Moi? What a revelation! To be regarded as a gardening implement. Passing strange! Ah, well. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST was a real treat. Such talented young people. The songs were so smooth and sure I could close my eyes and ride the melodies, wholly surrendering myself to their charms. And they could actually dance, something one doesn't often see in amateur theatricals. The costumes were richly appointed, the sets lavishly designed yet with functional precision and care, the lighting elaborate yet fluent, and the sound manipulated with a wholly professional hand."

"And the direction?"

"Please. I would simply sound like I'm gushing. You know that Gilles is my good friend, and that I absolutely adore her. Were I to attempt to comment intelligently on her directing it would sound to many like the empty enthusiasms of an ignorant schoolboy."

"Still, it'd be easier than admitting that you know absolutely nothing about directing theatre."

"I would not go so far, monsieur! You cannot work for the government for thirty years and not know something about acting!"

"Pas faux, Monsieur Le Duc. Pas faux."

Teaching Nonsense

“Have you seen today’s article in the newspaper?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, some Teutonic thing I picked up outside the Gare Ste. Germaine. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Neublatt, or something like that. The fellow didn’t have Pravda.”

“I didn’t know you read German.”

“I don’t, actually. But it still carries Calvin and Hobbes. Ho, ho! I love that comic.”

“You exasperate me sometimes, my dear Duc. I meant, which article?”

“Oh, my friend pointed it out to me. She was quite distraught. Here it is. The one about the decision of the school board in that state over there.”

“Which state is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some tract of farmland in the middle of nowhere. I believe its major export is tornadoes.”

“My God!”

“Apparently that’s what they believe as well. At least the state’s school board believes it to be so. They want to insure the state’s future generations are free to learn that supernatural forces may cause tornadoes.”

“Supernatural forces?”

“Pixies, sprites, that sort of thing. Except God. They don’t want to introduce religion into the public schools. They draw the line at supernaturalism in the natural science classes.”

“How absolutely reasonable.”

“Yessss . . , quite sage.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too harsh in my judgment of those poor people. I’m sure they’re doing the best they can. Inbreeding being what it is. Besides, it’s not as though we’re witness to Galileo being dragged before the Inquisition. The students are simply being given the choice to believe in fairy dust rather than evolution. I personally believe strongly in freedom of choice. Besides, who in their right mind would choose to be ignorant?”

“Baby steps, sir. Baby steps. I just feel uncomfortable that the teaching of nonsense should be given the mandate of the state.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Also, there is a positive aspect to this story.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Well, if evolution is merely a theory chances are overwhelmingly good that the virus causing that avian flu which is the rage in all the papers today will most likely not evolve into some deadly strain which can infect humans. See, the state school board has delivered mankind from the irrational fear of an influenza pandemic!”

“Ah, but you forget, my friend. Humankind may yet fall victim to dark and malicious forces which are at work in the universe.”

“As in the last election?”

“Amen.”

Time, time, time . . .

Sitting beside the boulevard affords one time to think, to ponder the nature of things.

Of late I’ve been reflecting upon certain elemental questions which touch upon creation. Ultimate reality, if you will.

A good friend far more learned than myself recommended a film to me. This film sought to impart to the viewer an elementary understanding of string theory.

Please, don’t ask me to explain this in detail. I have a dilettante’s interest in the sciences. And I trust to the kindness of those who really know of these things not to ridicule the simplicity of my understanding.

Yet, the film mentioned something which struck me as somehow profoundly significant in its implications. It said simply that these vibrating strings, these elemental disturbances in the basic void of creation, impart all manifested qualities to all those things which inhabit our familiar reality.

When I heard this I thought, What an odd concept. That time itself may simply be an attribute of things. Time isn’t an illusion created by the manner in which manifested objects move in relation to each other. It is an actual attribute of manifestation. Like color or texture.

The implication of this is that time can actually be removed from an object. Thought of in another way, an object may actually be taken out of time. And placed in another time. It’s all a matter of changing the attributes of the object.

When I thought of this I suddenly realized that here lay the possibility of time travel. Here, in the manipulation of attributes. And with this realization came a vision of a future when people (or their ilk, as we may be quite different by then) will move between times as they now move from here to there. It will be a future when the distances between the stars will be irrelevant.

What a fascinating time to come. I daresay we can scarce imagine the things that will come to be.

Then I thought, Well, if time is only an attribute what of thoughts themselves?

It was then I decided to go slow with the absinthe.

Moderation in all things, after all.

The Passing of Good People

It always saddens me to learn of the passing of good people. Indeed, how can one not be saddened to learn that the world has become just a little less gentle, a little less merciful. That it has become a harder place than it already is.

Is such a thing really necessary? No. I hardly think anyone would agree that this should be so.

I have heard it said that this woman taught us all how to be better people. It seems such a simple thing. Yet, when you think about it, how would you do it? Like this small woman, would you be willing to risk the indignities, the insults, the humiliations, the threats of death to take a stand for justice? In the simple hope that by doing so others will somehow learn to become better people?

I think there are few who would be willing to act with such quiet courage.

I feel the world becoming harder about me. As though a Golden Age of compassion and mercy has become supplanted by an Iron Age of harsh anxieties. Our leaders bring us no reassurance and comfort. They bring only alarms and an unending litany of fears.

Well. This I know, and I know it quite well. It needn’t be this way. We are better people, and we needn’t surrender our better natures to those dark powers who seek to ensnare us.

We need only speak out. Speak out against hatred, ignorance, and fear. Stand and speak out for justice, compassion, mercy, and knowledge.

I know that this is what I choose to do.