Thursday, November 17th, 2005
The hot weather, weird and impudent for November, finally broke and now we’ve got 50 degree air so unhumid and clear it feels vacuum packed.
We walked along the Eno River this weekend, jumping from rock to rock and trying to catch leaves.
Last night, I did a little copy editing on Zsofi’s translation of five pages of answers her parents had given to a child’s questions about their lives, particularly during WWII. I’d heard most of the stories before… a deadpan recitation of bombs missing by feet, aunts and uncles who died marching to camps, children sharing documents to avoid deportation, listening to tank cannons, hunger.
When I’d finished, Zsofi said she wanted to get back on the computer to work on Toad Talk, the school newsletter she edits. Struck by the absurdity of the juxtaposition, we both started laughing. And then we were crying.