My husband heard it in the middle of the night. The stealth bombers, en route to Iraq, went right smack over us, here in Crete, biggest of all the Greek islands.
In the morning he told me, “Stealth bombers! What a racket! Can’t believe you slept through it!” And nor could I believe it because – though when I was young I could’ve slept through the Blitz – these days a medium-sized mosquito can wake me and – I swear it’s the same mosquito- quite often does.
But I was conked out, due to being in our Crete house and getting way more fresh air than usual (am also trying to get fitter but let’s not talk about how that’s working out, ok? OK.)
Our Crete house is on the Greek Akrotiri, and is therefore less than a twenty-minute drive from a mega US naval base. This base is shortly to host the world’s largest aircraft carrier, making it a prime Iranian target.
But hey, that’s ok because we’re used to that. Moved from two miles outside of D.C. to London in the 80s (from target to target, in short…)
Not everybody here is as cool as we are, however. Our closest friends here – half-French/half-American – are mega-annoyed because the US base is off-limits, as long as the Iran-Israel war lasts. This means that they have to fork out for food big-time: no PX, same as the rest of us EU people.
Not that I begrudge cheap eats to US service people. My father, then a USA diplomat, used to call America “The land of the great PX”. So he’d tell Alice (me, seven) and my sister Kathy (six): “Soon we’ll be visiting the land of the great PX!”
Then we’d get all excited because… that meant seeing our cousins, and we loved our four cousins. Plus, the US had English language TV, which meant, best of all… “He’s dead, Jim”. And “where no man has gone before”.
***** Star Trek!!!!! *****
Sorry, was meant to be writing about Jane Austen, wasn’t I? Pls. forgive!!!!
I did have some faint and foggy idea of what to say about Austen… which was… which was… yes!!!! This awful statue!!!!
Oh, c’mon, you know the one I mean. It’s been plastered all over social media. It’s in Alton, East Hampshire and I don’t know who perpetuated it, and I don’t want to know, but the smug, judgemental and unplayful expression is the exact opposite of what made Patsy Ferran so expressive, mischievous and believable a Jane Austen in the recent BBC Miss Austen series.
This particular statue also reminded me of my late, great paternal grandfather, Gen. Maxwell D. Taylor, who led the 101st Airborne on D-Day, by parachute. When West Point – he’d attended West Point and had even run it as Superintendent – offered to put up a statue to him, he refused, saying, “I’d far rather people wondered why there wasn’t a statue to me than why there was.”
I loved my grandfather.
Even Austen would’ve loved my grandfather.
I also love Austen’s letters – those that survive – and I’m running a series to make them better-known on social media. Karylee Marin – a famous Austen fan – commented on the one I chose this week, on Facebook. Her opinion:
Karylee Marin (on Facebook)
Yikes. I’m surprised Cassandra didn’t burn this one.
Well, I get that – because, yes, it certainly is a little mean – but my guess is that Austen permitted herself a wider latitude when writing to her beloved sister than she would have otherwise… It also might lend authority to the theory that Cassandra burned the letters about Jane Austen’s crushes (Lefroy?) while allowing other letters to exist.
And that’s about all from me, possibly forever, given the world political situation.
Bestest,
Alice
P.S. Have almost finished my fifth in my award-winning Austenesque series. If you’re either unusually good-natured, I’ll be looking for ARC readers in about a month or so, depending upon whether the US Naval base close to our Crete house gets targeted).
Connect here if interested: https://www.linktr.ee/ASTMcVeigh
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