Last night I had another recurring dream abut a woman I used to work with when I taught at BU, a woman of unquestionable dignity and great spirit and wonderful soul. Her name was Sandy and she had a whole in her heart. Why I have recurring dreams of her, I cannot understand. Or maybe I do. Whatever the case, my thoughts are with her now, and her courage years ago as she faced some rather periolous surgery. I only regret not getting to know her better. She was a good person. This brings me to some thoughts about how some of us cry in a sound booth, sobs and weeping unheard. Still real. Still potent. Silent. Still. Who was it who said men lead lives of quiet desperation? Thoreau? Let us focus our attention on all of the lives of quiet desperation lived daily, weekly, decades, throughout history and give a moment of silent memorial to these unknown soldiers. The unknown soldiers that die daily--in Iraq, Afghanistan, wherever, whenever...so much sadness in the world. Elyse