This is continuing to be one busy--in a good way--summer, full of activity and good times. Yesterday, I packed a lunch for the two of us and got down to sister Betty's about noon. We ate there (chicken salad sandwiches on pumpernickel, sliced apples and blueberries, sourdough pretzels, and pink lemonade), then went to the beach. Stayed at the Washington Avenue one for about a half hour, then walked down to Richards Ave. to sit with friend Mary H. and some of her family.
I get antsy with too much of inactivity and I don't like to sit on the sand, so walked back to get my beach chair. I also broke up the afternoon by taking a brisk walk to Ventnor pier and back. We left about 4:00 and when we got back to Betty's, found that the electricity on all three downbeach municipalities was off. This had been announced on the radio, Betty said--something to do with the lightning that had occurred on Thursday. I suggested we go off-shore for dinner and we did. Had broiled flounder at Shore Diner and greatly enjoyed it.
Back at Betty's, we sat on the porch and chatted for awhile, then I drove home. Got in a bit after eight after another fine summer day.
Today: the lake for Joelly's eighth birthday.
WIDER: The more things change department: Does the following seem familiar?
"People talk a little more of the war, but very little. As always hitherto, it is impossible to overhear any comments on it in the pubs, etc. Last night, E(ileen) and I went to the pub to hear the 9 o’c news. The barmaid was not going to have it on if we had not asked her, and to all appearances nobody listened."
And:
"Watching in public bars, I have noticed that working men only pay attention to the broadcasts when some bit of demotic speech creeps in. E(ileen), however claims, with some truth I think, that uneducated people are often moved by a speech in solemn language which they don’t actually understand but feel to be impressive. E.g. Mrs A. (cleaning woman) is impressed by Churchill’s speeches, though not understanding them word for word."
Those paragraphs were written by an Englishman in his journal (that's what blogs were called in past years, children) exactly seventy years ago in May and June, 1940. They concern, of course, the quickly approaching world war. He notes that there was little interest among the great lower class, but what there was appears as admiration for the lordly rulers. (Surely, because they use all the big words and are so--well, lordly--they must know better than lowly working stiffs like you and me.)
Yes, it was The Prophet Orwell.