Writing in Bed
It’s not Marat sitting in his bath with a towel on his head, but I’m writing in bed this morning because little ones are asleep on the couches, and they have yet to stir. Big day today. The granddaughter is off to camp. I’m watching the grandson while they travel. We don’t have anything mapped out today. I think we’ll just let things happen as they happen.
He’s coming again next weekend for an extended stay. I’ve arranged a playdate. We’re going to Longhorn Caverns. This will be the third grandchild to go with me into the Caverns. After that we’ll probably take a dip in the pool even though I still find it a bit too chilly for my taste. Although, I hear we’ve got a 100 degree day or two in the works. So that might help the water temperature.
Back to Marat. It’s sort of fun to drop that sort of historical allusion into a trivial little piece about sleeping grandchildren. But it’s really about Jacques-Louis David's portrait of the scene, in which the revolutionary is shown assassinated in his bath, which is what brought it to my attention in the first place, and I have no idea when that happened. But now you know about it if you didn’t before. And that’s why we read, to learn a little something.