Saturday, November 30, 2019

Savannah Thanksgiving

Morning in the Connor House.

Steamboat and freighter. Pretense and reality are the theme of this Thanksgiving here. If you want authenticity, you have to look beneath the surface facade of tour buses and buggies. Delve below the stories handed out by guides. Same with our pretense of a President, a man incapable of leadership or compassion. Isn't our own giving thanks for our "blessings" itself lacking in compassion for a world dying in poverty, war, pollution, and climate catastrophe? Our pretense of happiness is steeped in unthinking selfishness.

Dinner at the Flying Monk.

Returning to the Flying Monk for dinner with John and Darryl, there is a tad more to the pretense-reality dichotomy as turkeys turn into Santas, namely the notion of God. We all know the Good v. Evil aspects of religion. Marx and Freud hit the nail on the head with Thor's hammer. Buddha gave up all his possessions for the non-material way to enlightenment. Jesus, as I've written before, held socialist values. What grim reality that people were burned to death in his name. Religion is the greatest fraud of them all: control people by making them superstitious and crying for a make believe afterlife. Capitalism is the success story of rich masters who have made slaves of the rest of us while destroying nature and life in the process. My thoughts as I slurp those tasty Singapore noodles...

And Thanksgiving Dinner Wednesday at Mrs. Wilkes:
Great editorial about T'giving in NY Times, posted. I think of yesterday as our feast day. 8 of us at the table, 2 couples of color and 2 white couples. The woman next to me resembled Kamala Harris. Across from me a man in his fifties from Savannah with a polo shirt with a Ga Bulldogs logo. We all chatted. There was another teacher at the table. We talked of travel and Tgiving plans. We passed bowls of vegetables around the table. I thought it quaint how the polo guy, white, Ga man, kept saying " sir" to me. His wife was the elementary school teacher. The woman beside me worked for the air force. At the head of the table sat an elegant, middle-aged black woman, quite glamorous, lovely silver hair pulled back. When the owner, and my former schoolmate, Marcia T., walked over, I introduced my husband Darryl to her and wished I could read minds to know what everyone thought of that. All in all, I felt as if I were with family, or a great symbol of family. Did I mention how delicious the food was, almost an aphrodisiac. And those butter beans.