Another week of this double diary and I’ll decide which way to go. First I have to get rid of this bloody cold, and clear my head. We went to a party yesterday, but it was on a small scale, where i could infect only a few of my closest friends. I hung the flags all over the front of the house, and now will call my old housebound acquaintances that need cheering. Then I will go back to bed. If bedrest helps I will join the family in a barbeque or … better yet … have some radiatori and rejoicing at Pappa’s.
It may be the head cold or it may be a political dilemma, but everything is mixing up in my head. I’m watching the annual bible quiz on television, and the language seems – not foreign – but integral to my daily life, while Inspector Clouseau, who I was watching on the other channel before, seemed totally defamiliarized, having nothing to do with my existence.
For example, The other day, at a meeting of the Federation of Writers’ Associations, in which representatives of English, Yiddish, Russian, Georgian, Rumanians, Spanish, etc. bemoaned the fact that our budgets have been cut to the point where we can’t even afford to maintain the multilingual culture we are dedicated to promoting, the Georgian representative stopped the mourning with “Do you know why the Dead Sea is called the Dead Sea?” we murmured something about how no life can be supported in the salt, and slowly she shook her head. “It is because it is the lowest body of water in the world, and all the rivers flow down to it, but it gives nothing to anything. This,” she said, “is what created Sodom – the inability to give.” There was silence, and then we resolved to plan a ceremony for Holocaust Day next year to echo the multilingual destruction of our various communities, to give instead of shnorring.
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