77th entry to the Colonel`s Scrapbook
Birthdates which occurred on November 30:
538 St Gregory of Tours chronicler/bishop,always sweating oil1466 Andrea Doria Genoese statesman/admiral, too bad his namesake ship had such a tragic end
1667 Jonathan Swift England, satirist (Gulliver's Travels, A Modest Proposal),only he could have imagined the Lilliputians
1835 Samuel Langhorne Clemens [Mark Twain], author (Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn) ,top cat lover1863 Andres Bonifacio leader of 1896 Philippine revolt against Spain …finally someone wide awake
Birthdates which occurred on November 30:
538 St Gregory of Tours chronicler/bishop,always sweating oil1466 Andrea Doria Genoese statesman/admiral, too bad his namesake ship had such a tragic end
1667 Jonathan Swift England, satirist (Gulliver's Travels, A Modest Proposal),only he could have imagined the Lilliputians
1835 Samuel Langhorne Clemens [Mark Twain], author (Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn) ,top cat lover1863 Andres Bonifacio leader of 1896 Philippine revolt against Spain …finally someone wide awake
1874 Sir Winston Churchill (C) British PM (1940-45, 1951-55, Nobel 1953),my darling Bulldog,I care not if he knew about German torpedoes and thus Lusitania sank, I love him,I worship him
Deaths which occurred on November 30:
30 -BC- Cleopatra Egyptian queen commits suicide,the most envied woman because she was so superior to men 1016 Edmund II Ironsides, King of the Saxons (1016), dies at 27,poor guy,what if he had lived longer
1900 Oscar Wilde Irish author, dies in Paris, with a goblet of champagne in his hand
WORLD HISTORIANS DAY
I`m a historian. I feel more than a kissing cousin to god, who I am sorry to report,doesn`t exist for me. I hear my agitated spouse nattering about how wonderful it is to be a lawyer or a medic and my fleas dance around in my fur. I was born to be a historian,and I would never be anything else,dearest reader. I love ancient gossip, Herodotus is my model, Churchill my idol and my memory , to the awe of everybody including you, is photographic. Today was chosen to celebrate us freaks who according to dirty politicians should be on a leash simply because in 1874 a big rambunctious redheaded baby almost killed American doyenne Jenny Jerome while making his dèbut in this valley of tears…Winston Churchill- Born with a golden spoon in his mouth at Blenheim, Winston was destined to be a supergenius, the saviour of England during WWII(that is why I call him the British Bulldog,and I have to admit his heavy jowls in old age also help for the choice of name), adored by so many and hated by others like my daughter, who wants to barf noisily at the mere mention of his name. My dad had the enormous privilege of meeting him shortly before Operation Overlord(D-Day,the greatest amphibian military operation in history) and even puffed on the same cigar as The Churchill. Even if my father would have died upon the shores of Normndie, he would have died in peace after having met Churchill,Eisenhower and Patton. I turn green with envy. Churchill. Single malt scotch, cat hairs, Rose of Herzegovina cigars and ink: the male aroma of Churchill. I inhale and I have him near me, this man I never met for real. My role model, my inspiration., my bowl of laughter.Normally I don`t like white men, but Churchill is god. Envied by so many, because he won a Nobel Prize for Literature for his History of the English-speaking Peoples, Gabriel garcìa Màrquez snarled that he had won that award because the Swedish Academy couldn`t by any means stretch truth so much as to give him the award for Peace.
I have loved Winston since my dad mentioned him in a bedtime story when I was a little girl. I imagined him getting spanked as a young soldier in Africa, during the Boer War, when he got jailed. Writing his first articles, with his mom being his first critic and accomplice. He could never be without a pen and a cat nearby, same as I. How could I avoid falling in love with his exhuberance,his joie de vivre, his capacity to withstand even the worst things and get back on his feet? Was he really aware of the dangers of the German torpedoes when the Lusitania was coming back to Europe in 1916, with the Spanish pianist Enrique Granados and his wife aboard? Were some people right to call him a criminal who was fit to be judged for those lost lives? My daughter still bears a grudge over that, or maybe it is simple, elementary misplaced jealousy.
Winston and I also share that galloping passion for cats.He had so many of them, including the rosy Rosalie who once shat into his top hat and then he poured the excrement on his balding pate when he put the hat back on, having everybody laugh at him. Jock waited for him at the steps of the house and dined with him. Once he went into a cellar after the Germans bombarded London, and he rescued in his hat three kittens and their frightened mom. That is the Winston I love, with a big heart and a baby`s smile. The same Winston who had to be restricted by the king so he wouldn`t hop into one of the ships and go off into Normandie on D Day. Even at his age ,he was able to defend England as the best of medieval knights. No more men are built like him, Winston belongs to another epoch. I hoped to find one like him for myself and failed miserably, but my dreams cannot be censored even by a wedding band and Winston continues to be my great intellectual turn-on.
Winston gave us an example on how to get things into perspective when writing history. Through his pet student Danielle Rocher, who was my teacher in college, I ñearned that no idol misses having clay feet and noticing such a detail doesn`t make you any less a historian. When I started publishing short articles on different personalities and topics, placing them in a scarcely read pseudo-elite little newspaper, I left no head standing on shoulders, and I had to be ready to survive all the attacks from people who couldn `t understand iconoclasts and people like me, who love to call things by their own name and no euphemisms. I wonder what Winston would have done now in the age of internet. Would he have more blogs than those I have?
Winston guides my every step although I never had the great honor of having him puff his cigar in my face. Today, on Historian`s Day, I have felt his presence like a gentle cloud descending like a Jewish shawl over my shoulders. At age 49, I realize that the best choice I made in my life was to become a historian.
Deaths which occurred on November 30:
30 -BC- Cleopatra Egyptian queen commits suicide,the most envied woman because she was so superior to men 1016 Edmund II Ironsides, King of the Saxons (1016), dies at 27,poor guy,what if he had lived longer
1900 Oscar Wilde Irish author, dies in Paris, with a goblet of champagne in his hand
WORLD HISTORIANS DAY
I`m a historian. I feel more than a kissing cousin to god, who I am sorry to report,doesn`t exist for me. I hear my agitated spouse nattering about how wonderful it is to be a lawyer or a medic and my fleas dance around in my fur. I was born to be a historian,and I would never be anything else,dearest reader. I love ancient gossip, Herodotus is my model, Churchill my idol and my memory , to the awe of everybody including you, is photographic. Today was chosen to celebrate us freaks who according to dirty politicians should be on a leash simply because in 1874 a big rambunctious redheaded baby almost killed American doyenne Jenny Jerome while making his dèbut in this valley of tears…Winston Churchill- Born with a golden spoon in his mouth at Blenheim, Winston was destined to be a supergenius, the saviour of England during WWII(that is why I call him the British Bulldog,and I have to admit his heavy jowls in old age also help for the choice of name), adored by so many and hated by others like my daughter, who wants to barf noisily at the mere mention of his name. My dad had the enormous privilege of meeting him shortly before Operation Overlord(D-Day,the greatest amphibian military operation in history) and even puffed on the same cigar as The Churchill. Even if my father would have died upon the shores of Normndie, he would have died in peace after having met Churchill,Eisenhower and Patton. I turn green with envy. Churchill. Single malt scotch, cat hairs, Rose of Herzegovina cigars and ink: the male aroma of Churchill. I inhale and I have him near me, this man I never met for real. My role model, my inspiration., my bowl of laughter.Normally I don`t like white men, but Churchill is god. Envied by so many, because he won a Nobel Prize for Literature for his History of the English-speaking Peoples, Gabriel garcìa Màrquez snarled that he had won that award because the Swedish Academy couldn`t by any means stretch truth so much as to give him the award for Peace.
I have loved Winston since my dad mentioned him in a bedtime story when I was a little girl. I imagined him getting spanked as a young soldier in Africa, during the Boer War, when he got jailed. Writing his first articles, with his mom being his first critic and accomplice. He could never be without a pen and a cat nearby, same as I. How could I avoid falling in love with his exhuberance,his joie de vivre, his capacity to withstand even the worst things and get back on his feet? Was he really aware of the dangers of the German torpedoes when the Lusitania was coming back to Europe in 1916, with the Spanish pianist Enrique Granados and his wife aboard? Were some people right to call him a criminal who was fit to be judged for those lost lives? My daughter still bears a grudge over that, or maybe it is simple, elementary misplaced jealousy.
Winston and I also share that galloping passion for cats.He had so many of them, including the rosy Rosalie who once shat into his top hat and then he poured the excrement on his balding pate when he put the hat back on, having everybody laugh at him. Jock waited for him at the steps of the house and dined with him. Once he went into a cellar after the Germans bombarded London, and he rescued in his hat three kittens and their frightened mom. That is the Winston I love, with a big heart and a baby`s smile. The same Winston who had to be restricted by the king so he wouldn`t hop into one of the ships and go off into Normandie on D Day. Even at his age ,he was able to defend England as the best of medieval knights. No more men are built like him, Winston belongs to another epoch. I hoped to find one like him for myself and failed miserably, but my dreams cannot be censored even by a wedding band and Winston continues to be my great intellectual turn-on.
Winston gave us an example on how to get things into perspective when writing history. Through his pet student Danielle Rocher, who was my teacher in college, I ñearned that no idol misses having clay feet and noticing such a detail doesn`t make you any less a historian. When I started publishing short articles on different personalities and topics, placing them in a scarcely read pseudo-elite little newspaper, I left no head standing on shoulders, and I had to be ready to survive all the attacks from people who couldn `t understand iconoclasts and people like me, who love to call things by their own name and no euphemisms. I wonder what Winston would have done now in the age of internet. Would he have more blogs than those I have?
Winston guides my every step although I never had the great honor of having him puff his cigar in my face. Today, on Historian`s Day, I have felt his presence like a gentle cloud descending like a Jewish shawl over my shoulders. At age 49, I realize that the best choice I made in my life was to become a historian.
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