Egregious Reader

The painting is called The Family by Samuel Bak. Samuel Bak is a Holocaust survivor. It is haunting. Some faces are covered, some eyes are covered, some eyes are dead, some eyes are closed, few are open and looking ... some faces are bandaged, some figures are disfigured, some are rich, some are poor, some are busts, some are real. An old man, Da Vinci maybe, has put on his sunglasses so we can't see his red eyes or maybe so he can't see the world anymore so weary he is from his many years. Beside him to his right is what seems to be him again, but reflected from a mirror ... another bearded and weary traveler or perhaps us who are looking on, reflected. Then to the right is a faded painting of someone, maybe an italian from the Renaissance. His/her eyes are open, but mouth is hidden. Below are two war wounded men, seemed to be surrounded by brass horns. And beside him is one who is dead, and dressed in a military uniform. Then behind the dead is one alive, but we ca

Fish above provide by Aaron Henry Campbell, age 7. Cold blue sea, endless in its reach, profound, unfathomed. I think my favorite line in Moby Dick is at the very end. The whale has triumphed and the last masthead disappears and Melville writes: Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. The sea is fascinating. So is something else. The fish above was called forth from a similar mysterious depth, one that lays its head in a pool of dreams each night, one that laughs and cries, draws and writes. The human person--young and old, rich and poor, black and white, male and female--is mystery, profound and unfathomed.

Last night, around 9:30, Peter woke up from what was supposed to be his night-time sleep and I volunteered to try and get him back to sleep. Nothing would comfort him, so I stepped outside and into a roar of tree frogs and peepers. It was beautiful and so, so loud. We walked around a minute or two and he went back to sleep. This morning, I woke up with Peter fussing at 3:40 and again needed to step outside to get him to calm down, but this was almost completely silent. All the frogs must be sleeping. I could hear a dim chorus of bug strings, crickets, I guess and there was a tiny breeze, but it made the trees crackle and the leaves clap and water drops fall to the ground. And now its 5:30 and I hear one bird song. I do not see any light, but this little bird must begin early and call up the sun. I know from a couple of days ago that by the time we get to 6:30 the noise outside will be louder than the one at night with hundreds of bird songs all going at once. So there are three m