Jonathan Tobias

I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of singing with my friends in the Albemarle Chorale for seven years. We’ve sung a lot of wonderful music.

About a hundred years ago, on a hot Sunday night in Tulsa, Oklahoma, my 7-year-old self discovered a great-balls-of-fire entertainment for a boy who would rather be watching “The Wild,

Layton family is heading out of Edenton Bay toward the Albemarle Sound.

In 1922, more than a hundred years ago, Emily Post published this bon mot in the first edition of “Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home”: “Good manners reflect something from inside — an innate sense of consideration for others and respect for self.”

D-Day was eighty years ago this week. I’m probably not alone in remembering it by watching “Band of Brothers,” “Saving Private Ryan,” and “The Longest Day.”

In two years, we will celebrate the Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of the United States Declaration of Independence. Our nation is the oldest, longest-surviving democracy that the world has ever known. And that fact alone is what we remember with thanksgiving every July 4th.

My new motto is “Il faut cultiver notre jardin” — that is, “we must cultivate our garden.”

About a hundred years ago at a yeshiva school —where young men study the Torah and the Talmud — the students were being not a little testy and combative. Nasty arguments became a daily occurrence. Cliques were formed and denunciatory campaigns were waged. There were many “sides” — each of which presumed the “others” were motivated by wicked desires. Rude signs were posted. Crude vulgarities were splayed out beside the bathroom mirrors.

The tomato sandwich culture has its own orthodoxy. Some of my stalwart associates insist that it should consist of only these four ingredients: a thick slice of tomato, two slices of Wonder Bread, a dollop of mayonnaise, and a pinch of salt. But the tomato sandwich is susceptible to numerous interpretations.

I’m approaching the fever storm season of the November election with fear and trembling, and I’m not alone. The sturm und drang, anxiety and dread are like the Ghost of Christmas Future who comes visiting in the night, and I feel like Scrooge who hasn’t woken up yet, still twisted up in his bedclothes.