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Phyllis Chesler
Books By Phyllis

Yesterday, we saw a film ("Victoria and Abdul") with Judi Dench--I'll see anything she's in. It was thin stuff at best and presented Victoria as a very lonely woman and Abdul as the most peaceful, noble, tender, and devoted a Muslim who ever lived; no doubt, he was a Sunni/Sufi--he quoted Rumi, also a Sunni/Sufi. And then my family took me across the street to the Palm Court at the Plaza where we had a High Tea fit for Queen Victoria herself. My two delicious granddaughters presented me with home-made cards, a scarf, and earrings, and were as excited at my opening my presents as they are at their own birthday parties. I insisted on an "Eloise" cup for my tea even though I am not a child; well, I no longer LOOK like a child but inside--oh me, oh my! And then we lingered into the early evening: My son, my daughter-in-law, my partner, my granddaughters and we were all transfixed, nay, transformed, by this latest version of Old World charm. Some years back, the Palm Court featured a strolling violinist and a pianist who would play classical music and when I sat there, I was easily transported to the late nineteenth or early twentieth centuries. It was a perfect 77th birthday.