November 21, 1945 ["Draftee Daffy," "Wild and Woolfy," "Hare Tonic"]

Tomorrow, as the turkey sits there gleaming and brown and the potatoes steam and the cranberries shine, we will give thanks that the War is over, and that will do. For once I will turn from the terrible stew being served all over the world, the bargains being made, the thousands--millions?--homeless, or fleeing from what once was home--and of course the horrors piled up in the former Reich and the cities of Japan.

My children always want to hear something funny on the radio or have me read a pleasant story as a kind of purgative after they've seen a monster movie. Nothing settles the stomach after a Wolf Man like Fibber McGee's closet unloading--or, at the movies, Bugs Bunny triumphant. And I want to hide in this nursery-closet with the children, and let the "naughty world" rumble along without us.

But even the cartoons won't let it go. Daffy Duck in "Draftee Daffy" at first woos MacArthur--lisping "If I could be with you one hour tonight, if I was free to do to the things I might"--oh, Daffy, have you no limits?--until the little man from the draft board propels him into rocket-powered retreat. While the tiny dog in "Wild and Woolfy" manages to win the day (the canine Sad Sack droning, "I'm the hero"), and Bugs convinces not only Elmer Fudd but the audience that they suffer from Wabbititus, the respite is fleeting, seven minutes or so--but before I can crease my brow in worry Life gives us a Navy man sipping on an ice cream soda, then Ingrid Bergman looking like the best sign of a healthy Europe anyone could hope for.

And I am thankful for all that, too, no matter how sardonic my typewriter may wax--because, regardless of my mood, the turkey will have to be served and the children fed.


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