I am a committed socialist. At the same time, I have to admit that if offered the services of a full-time maid, I wouldn’t refuse. Who was that Waldo Emerson guy, and what was it he said about consistency?
Going out tonight to a favourite local eatery–the last night we can go there before our new 10-day circuit breaker lockdown begins in W. Quebec–to celebrate the death of G. Gordon Liddy, the most notorious of the many thugs involved in Watergate. It is hard to enumerate all the reasons to celebrate this man’s demise (at age 90). Starting off life as an FBI agent, Liddy once ordered an FBI background check on his fiancee–who went on to marry him anyway. Under Nixon he was the key strategist involved in Watergate and the subsequent aftermath. Sentenced initially to 20 years’ imprisonment, Liddy had his sentence reduced to eight years by President Jimmy Carter and was paroled after four and a half.
Of all the many charming stories one could tell about this unbelievably awful man, one, of a twistedly gastronomic nature, stands out. Liddy was known to eat rats in prison. Confronted once by a fellow inmate who asked if he didn’t find it gross to eat such things, Liddy calmly replied, “Chacun a son gout!” (to each his own)–and went on chewing.
This morning, instead of my usual Mozart or Vivaldi, I played a lively CD of Glenn Miller jazz, even dancing to two of the tunes. One day doesn’t make an entire chapter of a life, but this looks like a positive indicator to me!
A) On some days, it had got to the point where he could hardly use a simple noun, such as the name of a common household object or piece of clothing, without first qualifying it with a profane or obscene adjective. At that point, he. . .Complete the sentence.
B) On some days, it had got to the point where she could hardly use a simple noun, such as the name of a common household object or piece of clothing, without first qualifying it with profane or obscene adjective. At that point, she. . .Complete the sentence.
C) Compare and contrast the above.
Some of my critics have suggested that, in my writing, I’m doing little more than creating a brand new set of cliches. Are they right? Maybe. But it doesn’t cost anything and doesn’t harm the planet or put anyone’s health or safety at risk, and it keeps me off the streets. So I guess that until someone shows me some compelling reason to stop, I’ll just keep on doing what I’ve been doing for the past 61 years.
Today marks the 30th anniversary of the death of my mother, Carol Foss Peirce. She was just two weeks past 70. Although her own life was difficult and in many ways troubled, she was an inspiration to her children, three of whom (including yours truly) went on to earn doctorates in various fields. And she inspired me with a love for theatre early on, by taking me and my sisters to Broadway shows. Rest in peace, Mother. May the dialogue be crisp and witty, and may the actors always know their lines.
The death of one’s favourite professors from college or grad school days is sad, but not unexpected. But when one starts seeing the children of those professors turning up in the obits, that’s when one starts to worry!
A touch of the rogue in one’s makeup is important, in my view, not just to have a full and happy life, but to achieve longevity. It helps to keep other, lesser things in proper proportion, and thus to prevent one from going off the rails emotionally.
Does anyone who uses the time-honoured expression “Give me patience,” as I often do, really want to get more patience? Let’s have a show of hands. Not everybody all at once. No one? Good. I didn’t think so.
Among the types of businesses slated for closure in the new wave of lockdowns are sensory deprivation spas. Now, I can’t help wondering what the deprivation of sensory deprivation will do for people’s sensory lives. Something inquiring minds all want to know.