More of the Same

What can I tell you?  I look at the five-day forecast IN THE NEWSPAPER every morning and still no sign it'll ever get above freezing.  Which means I'll never leave the house.  So there's nothing happening here.  It's redundant to show you what's going on, as most of you are probably experiencing the same thing.  But just in case, for those in California -- here's the bird bath.  And here's the tree outside my bedroom window. 
 
 
So yes, it's lots of lying in bed watching movies on TV.  The other night TCM, which is screening old Oscar winners, showed Gentlemen's Agreement.  I found I remembered exactly three things about that movie:  first, it must have been in 1947, because I was taking Creative Writing in my senior year (didn't learn a thing; fiction, it turned out, is not my metier.)  But I remember that our instructor, a grad student, took the whole class downtown to see that movie.  I knew nothing in those days, hadn't read the book, hadn't heard of the movie, hardly knew what a grad student was, had no idea why he thought we should see the film.  That's the first thing. 
Second, I remembered the plot -- Gregory Peck, WASP journalist, tells everyone he's Jewish, to gather material for a series he's writing on anti-Semitism.

And third, I remembered John Garfield, the
one-of-my-best-friends-is-a-Jew just back from The War, still crisp and beautifully pressed in his Captain's uniform. 
The other night I  realized why he was my only memory from the movie.  Short, dark, wiry, intense -- he reminded me of my father.  Who -- off-t0pic I know but it's nice to post his picture -- died only a couple of years after that.