google-site-verification: googleef995964fbf92920.html googlee156a6eeea47ae92.html
  • Dorit Rabinovitch


At least forty years ago I saw a British sitcom I thoroughly

enjoyed. It was called "To The Manor Born", with Penelope Keith as a British peeress who has lost her ancestral stately

home due to financial troubles, and Richard Bowles as the grocery store tycoon who buys it. Penelope, who was once wrapped in a whirlwind of hosting charities, social parties, cricket matches, fundraisers, equestrian events, hunting parties, etc., is now reduced by financial constraints to a very humdrum, curtailed existence in a tiny cottage near the village she once oversaw. A bit into the series she tells a friend that she's so bored and frustrated by suddenly having nothing to do that, even though she has no money, she spends hours on the phone with local tradespeople to get price quotes for imaginary purchases, and then haggling with them.

My situation right now (as back in 2008) is not dissimilar to Penelope's, although with a twist. Due to the malevolent shadow of the coronavirus hovering all over the globe I'm getting not one phone call - not even spam! The planet has gone into a kind of suspended animation. The other day I was so desperate for some normalcy that I picked up one brave spam call, and happily chatted with them. That is indeed a humbling experience...

12 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All