This past weekend Rose, Petunia and I went to see La Marche de l'Empereur, a movie about a year in the life of a flock of penguins. I cried in spite of myself. Behind us was a woman with her three-year-old daughter. She was laughing and really enjoying the funny penguins. There was a "Bambi" moment in which the females are off feeding underwater and a seal approaches to try to snatch one of them. One by one they leap out of the water to escape. All except one. She leaps out, but the vicious leopard seal, grabs her by the feet and drags her back in to start its feast. It was very dramatic. The little girl couldn't handle it, and had to leave.

The movie was full of examples the purest bravery, of struggling against all odds to survive. These are the stories that move me the most. Not love stories, although you could say that this was one even if it were for penguins. The males were so stoic, guarding their eggs and newborns throughout the cold, unforgiving winter, not feeding for four months. I imagined an exchange among them:

-Hey, Barry. How's the egg?
-Still warm, Frank. You?
-Still warm.

They then share a look of understanding, and no more words need be said, for their struggle is the same. It's so noble, even though I reduced it to the mundane.

Can you imagine if humans had to go through even a third of the Emperor penguin experience just to have a kid? We'd be quite the hardy breed, rather than the soft, mushy lumps we've become. More on that some other time, I guess.