The week has been uneventful mind for having attended a Holocaust seminar and hearing and witnessing live a survivor was quite astonishing. What more, was his belligerent sense of humor. (Age 86) “If I repeat certain things, I apologize in advance. You know when you reach a certain age, your memory starts playing with you, and I am now over 29, so..” Aside from petty questions at such events, one other thing that kills is always the cheapening of the entire experience with the deathly dreadful speech at the end – “We extend our thanks to blahblah , and also to bleh bleh, and to blurp …” – Humble bumble little man wiggles up out of his seat to go receive his flowers… Oh, not yet? Well, it must be soon, I’ll just stay standing. “…want to commemorate this moment and say that this room is just entirely too full of
bullshit life…” -stays standing- “…and to all of you who came out here today, thank you..” -bows with hands clasped together- “..now we want to express our thank you to Chaim Kornfeld, the survivor….” -bumbles on over in a rush with stiff little legs- “Oh, I get a hug?” Laughter. -receives and smells flowers in silence- “Work hard, stay in school kids. (Cheers)”.
Absolutely adorable. One thing that I can say out of everything I took away from this is only that I’m too glad someone from that time period survived to see the changes in our multicultural society and how we’ve all come such a long way to accepting people of all racial, ethical, religious, and whatever else I’m not fancy enough to include’s background. Big smiles.
On an ending note, the Duck is still as inappropriately in love with her cat as ever. When out of inspiration in writing class, always go back to your cat..
Thoughts, that are scattered and can be gathered, if only,
They were the loose strands of your cat’s fur,
Where, though a thousand grows each day
A thousand more is lost
Upon your dining table,
Embedded between the snug cushions of your couch,
So that one night you lay awake in bed to discover this one bothersome idea
Pluck it from the sheets underneath you and,
Before you throw it away, ponder it…
Thoughts, that at times of whimsical nature
Decides to wrestle
And the stairway landing is the battleground,
Madly sweeping with challenged grace
To win just, oh, don’t fly away!
Brief scarcity to rummage through your mind
Matted, tangled, a handful of…Thoughts
When elusive, leaves me to watch it sort itself out
Patient groomsmanship that I’m sure touches the secrets of knowledge;
the entity of thoughts
Sometimes, I distract the creature of thoughts with a piece of red string,
The oldest trick in the book,
But thoughts is the silent medium
Of fluffy white fur, you gather and throw
Hoping it will all fall in place.
It won’t speak to tell you
Which strand is great,
Then one chances upon the surface of your coffee or tea
And that’s what they mean when they say,
“I choked on my thoughts.”