I’ve lived through six turbulent decades, searching for ever-elusive peace. Personal peace. World peace. A peaceful marriage with a peace activist. An end to atomic testing and the Cold War. Reparations to everyone whose life and career was damaged by Hollywood blacklisting. Traveling to the Soviet Union to meet “the enemy.” Writing a novel to help me understand why my great-grandfather was willing to fight and possibly die in the Union Army for the principle of freedom, for the ideal of “making the country what it should be.” Making my peace with the need to give my mother the home and peace she wanted at the end of her life.
I suspect that my yearning for peace is universal, one way or another. Then why is peacefulness so hard to find, to maintain, to fight for? I’m writing this memoir to try to find out.
The title AFTER A LITTLE RAIN ON THURSDAY is a Ukrainian idiom. In America, we say, “after a month of Sundays” when we are resigned that something will not get done for a very long time, if ever. But there’s still a chance it might. We haven’t entirely given up hope.