What was my point? I’ll think of something by the time I reach the bottom of the page.
Thursday is an auspicious day. The one when the
Declaration of Independence was signed back in 1776. It’s a day plump with
possibilities. Fifteen years before that Benjamin Franklin flew his kite also
on a Thursday….which also proves my point.
Thursday was a holy day for me because it had a way
of always preceding Friday which meant weekly tests. Not being very bright I
decided I might need a touch of providential intervention to get me through the
ordeal. So every Thursday night I became devout only to correct the doubtful
attribution by the next day.
Franklin Roosevelt died on a Thursday. In a
strange way I count that as my day of entry into the adult world. He was
literally a god to me. PresidentRoosevelt was one word. I knew no other. Sad
and shaken as I was that April afternoon in 1945 I felt no longer a child at
age twelve. Everyone was crying openly. just like me. A poor Black man was asked if he knew the
president and he replied, No, but he knew me. FDR intoned the way you’d expect
a deity to speak…from on high. When he died, god died and I was existentially
on my own.
Thursday is the well-chosen day for our most secular
quasi-religious holiday when we gather together to thank the cosmic crapshoot
which brought us to this table as guests rather than as the sacrificial turkey
stuffed with assorted breadcrumbs, berries and savories.
And what better day than Thursday for Peggy’s weekly
poem which she lets fly to eager eyes? She chooses one from a vast store of
poetry replenished daily with new work. Her art embodies her soul and her
spirit.
I think my point has something to do with
belief…which is necessarily elusive. One might even say, mysterious.
Interesting to note that the word mysterious
has its origin in the Greek word myein
which meant closed…as in a mouth. So mystery is akin to mute. I’ll say nothing
more about the subject.
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