Yesterday, for Father’s Day, the young ones dragged me to the Rosamond Gifford
Zoo here in Syracuse. We stood in front of the moose pen, while D. snapped a photograph.
It’s today’s entry (the best entry I’ve ever written on 6/18, by the way):
the posed scene, the photo touch-up, the dramatization of pride in the dad with
a head so misshapen as to be considered grotesque, a planted aberrance,
conspicuous statement. But when I asked D. to check the remade image and suggest the perfect caption just a minute
ago, without blinking, she said something like, "What? I don’t see what