I'm reading a book I really like called "The Gift of Years." You'll be hearing more about it as I read further - but in the meantime I'll share just this one thought.
The author, Joan Chittister, in discussing the concept of actually remembering history, in addition to reading about it, deals with how important it is for those of us who are older to share our memories. She gives this example:
The historical memory of a group says, no, going into World War II and the invasion of Vietnam were not the same thing. You may support both if you want to, but don't think of them as equal.
On a much lighter note I was thinking the other day about the death of Phyllis Diller. (Not that death is light.) As you know, I admire stand up comics. It's very hard work. Diller was an extremely unattractive (in her view), broke, mother of five children when she first went on the road at age 37. She died last week in her sleep at age 95 after a successful, varied career that spanned many decades and one that any entertainer would envy.
Even after her many surgeries to enhance her looks she made self deprecating jokes like -
I was the world's ugliest baby. When I was born the doctor slapped everybody.
In 1959 I was a teenager and totally on my own. I worked at U.S. Steel in downtown Indianapolis during the day and went to business college three nights a week. But, occasionally, my roommate, Joan, and I would treat ourselves by having stuffed baked potatoes at a little diner on the way home from work. The building where the diner was located had a rundown night club on the other side. Several times, Phyllis Diller came through the diner on the way to do her act. She was bizarre looking. But she stopped to talk with each and every person in the diner. My memory of her is very clear.
Who would ever have thought, when we were in that little diner together in 1959, that Phyllis Diller would have an astoundingly successful life. And who would ever have thought that I would end up having my big life - with the best part of it, in many ways, happening right now.
I'm grateful for my historic memory.
***
The author, Joan Chittister, in discussing the concept of actually remembering history, in addition to reading about it, deals with how important it is for those of us who are older to share our memories. She gives this example:
The historical memory of a group says, no, going into World War II and the invasion of Vietnam were not the same thing. You may support both if you want to, but don't think of them as equal.
On a much lighter note I was thinking the other day about the death of Phyllis Diller. (Not that death is light.) As you know, I admire stand up comics. It's very hard work. Diller was an extremely unattractive (in her view), broke, mother of five children when she first went on the road at age 37. She died last week in her sleep at age 95 after a successful, varied career that spanned many decades and one that any entertainer would envy.
Even after her many surgeries to enhance her looks she made self deprecating jokes like -
I was the world's ugliest baby. When I was born the doctor slapped everybody.In 1959 I was a teenager and totally on my own. I worked at U.S. Steel in downtown Indianapolis during the day and went to business college three nights a week. But, occasionally, my roommate, Joan, and I would treat ourselves by having stuffed baked potatoes at a little diner on the way home from work. The building where the diner was located had a rundown night club on the other side. Several times, Phyllis Diller came through the diner on the way to do her act. She was bizarre looking. But she stopped to talk with each and every person in the diner. My memory of her is very clear.
Who would ever have thought, when we were in that little diner together in 1959, that Phyllis Diller would have an astoundingly successful life. And who would ever have thought that I would end up having my big life - with the best part of it, in many ways, happening right now.
I'm grateful for my historic memory.
***
