The Girl and Her Friend Who’s Moving To England

In days of yore, a friend moving away was a definite and demarcated end to things. Back in 1976, when I was in Grade one, I had a friend called Cameron who I played with regularly at recess, and a few times after school. But, then he moved away, and that was that. I just didn’t see him anymore. It was as if the very earth swallowed him up.

As it was so long ago, I can’t remember his last name. So, even finding him on Facebook isn’t really feasible. Too much time has passed. At the time, I remember not wanting to see him go, and anticipating the void his absence would create. But, what could I do? I just had to accept it. And I had to accept that it could happen again, to any one of the people I knew. And it certainly did. Pretty soon, such as thing came to be expected. There are friends and other classmates I had growing up that just dropped off somewhere; one year they were there, and the next they weren’t. In many cases, I can’t even remember exactly when they were out of my life. I myself moved schools after grade 9, leaving people behind me that I’d known since kindergarten, and many of whom I’ve never seen since. It was like moving to another planet.

But, that was then.

One of the Girl’s playmates is moving to England – the Isle of Wight to be exact. To maximize their time together, “playdates” have been arranged, so that they can squeeze out the last of their facetime together. They will miss each other of course. Children operate best when there is a routine to count on. And a part of the routine is seeing people every day, not to mention the love that grows between friends at any age. That much has not changed.

But, this is the 21st century.

One of the first things she and I did recently was to go to Google maps to find the Isle of Wight. When I was seven, if I’d had the presence of mind to ask Cameron where he was moving to, I could have consulted an atlas, or a road map, to find out where he was going to be living in relation to me. But I couldn’t virtually explore the street he was going to live on, or find out what colour his front door was going to be. Also, we didn’t have “playdates” arranged in 1976, unless it was us who arranged them (it was called “calling on” someone, which was just another way of saying we’d walk or ride our bikes to their house and knock on their door). Also, our parents didn’t really get involved in our personal relationships in the way that happens today. So, his parents and mine never really collaborated on helping us stay in touch. It was a different time.

But yesterday, the Girl and I explored the Isle of Wight together using Google Street Maps. She now has a pretty good idea of where her friend is going to live, and what his surroundings will be. She also has a basic idea of how far away the Isle of Wight is from where she lives. Further, she and her friend will have Skype, and (eventually) email and social media platforms at their disposal. There are channels to connection which they can use, with the help (initially) of their parents. It is possible that the changes that will occur over the years in each of their lives can in fact still be shared between them, despite a continent and an ocean that stands in their way. Whether this will actually happen is entirely another matter. But, the possibility remains to be a far more accessible one than ever before.

To the seven year old in me (he’s still there!), this is amazing.

It’s hard to say how far ahead the Girl’s generation on the whole will be on this score compared to how things have been for mine. Maybe with greater availability of connections, maybe geographical shifts aren’t going to be a barrier as they once were. Or maybe it will be easier for people of the Girl’s generation to take their connections for granted and let them go, since the stakes at a friend moving away aren’t as high. Who knows?

But, however things unfold she’ll have a few forces to draw upon. One will be her parents who will help her to stay connected as long as she wants to be, until she can manage it on her own. And another will be channels that just weren’t around when her parents were her age.

This is how it should be of course. Because a parent’s dream is mostly about helping to open up the possibilities for their children. To help her stay in touch with her friend, and not having the earth swallow him up is just another form of that in the end.

The Girl and the Mass Transit Idea

Part of being a parent is passing along your values to your children.

One thing I seem to have passed along is my love for, and belief in, mass transit systems. This includes the idea of transportation that is sustainable, a part of city infrastructure which is otherwise walkable.

By the time The Girl is the age I am as I write this, it will be the year 2049. This is one year before the big alternative energy target year in Europe – the EU energy roadmap for 2050 –  that will completely discontinue dependence on fossil fuels, and nuclear power. By then, alternative energy will not be alternative. And mass transit won’t be a “nice to have”. I don’t know what the world will look like by then here in Canada, stuck as we are in 2013 having to endure subsidized propaganda about how oil pipelines are the future of economic prosperity, and as safe as mother’s milk.

If I’m still kickin’ by 2049, I’ll be 80, and still against all that!

In the meantime, a lot of the people in The Girl’s life live apart from each other; friends, relatives, and of course parents. It takes a while to get places sometimes. As is well documented here, I went without a car for a while, crossing bridges and making pick-ups that were often challenging. And even since I’ve had the car, we’ve talked about ways to use it responsibly, to take transit when we can, and definitely to walk places when it’s possible to do so.

In any case this sparked a discussion about mass transit as the Girl sees it. This isn’t just about her, and her immediate circle. We’re talking a global solution here!

Here it is: The Passway.

It’s an electrically-driven “elevator”-like public vehicle, that seats up to ten people, with room for bathrooms.  You go into it, and decide on a destination – anywhere in the world. That’s how it’s kind of like the elevator idea, walking in  and pressing a button to the floor you want to end up on. Only, with the Passway (so named because you are “passed” from one location to another), there is a central “brain” (her words!) that is accessed by way of a map interface – maybe like Google Earth or something (must confirm). You plot your course, and away you go. The Passway is supported by a network of wires that intersect all over the world.

“You can go to China!” asserts the Girl.

I haven’t asked her how much it costs (“why does the world need so much money?” she was quoted as saying last week, to which I had no conclusive answer …), or how long it would take to build. “I might invent it.” she says.

I’m hoping for a drawing. We’ll collaborate on it, as she also suggested. And I’ll post it here.

In the meantime, here’s a picture of the two of us; the burgeoning civil engineer, and her loyal draftsman.

The Girl and Her Crowns

Yesterday was a day that I was kind of dreading. The dentist; not for me, but for the Girl.

I’ve been blessed with relatively healthy teeth, with no cavities or fillings, or what-have-you. And I hoped that the Girl might inherit those genes of mine. But, it was not to be, it seems. Some of her teeth mean well. But, they just don’t make it all the way on their own. It’s not her diet, or her brushing habits. She’s never had a cavity. It’s just genes, man. So, a little dental interference has been necessary.

But, dentist trips have also been unpleasant for her, historically speaking.

I won’t go into the details here. But, there was an incident the involved some advanced levels of presumption on the part of a local dentist and his wayward local anesthetic needle that caused some distress for the Girl.  So, upon consulting another dentist, it was decided that the Girl should have her crowns installed (is that the right word?) downtown in Vancouver at a surgery that specializes in that sort of thing.

To avoid undue worry, we decided to get the Girl checked out by the doctor for general health which is a necessary step in preparing for this kind of thing. Then, we’d wait out the date, breaking the whole thing to her the night before the procedure. It was presented to her as a kind of daytrip, with me coming along with her and her Mother. I was to do the driving, and the parking (sometimes a challenge in Vancouver). Her Mum outlined some of the broad strokes to her about what The Girl should expect from the day, and the procedure itself. On the morning, she dressed appropriately as a tooth:

You see the white shirt stands for the tooth itself. And the skirt is for the gums, of course. Why am I even explaining this? It’s obvious, right?

So, she was pretty chipper about the whole thing on the way there. Her DS chattered in the backseat, and I drove the three of us into Vancouver, finding parking in a local mall. From there, we hit the surgery office, and found the kids waiting area. Everything was fine. The dental assistant came in, and talked to us all – The Girl included.

This is important. In the bad old days, medical professionals had a habit of addressing the parents only, and leaving the kid out of it, even if the whole procedure was to happen to the kid. Thankfully this has changed. And the assistant, the anesthesiologist, the dentist, and all of the dental professionals showed a great deal of empathy for The Girl’s fear.

Because she did become very afraid.

Things turned when she found out about the IV needle. Really, I think this was just the catalyst for everything that was happening. But, she started to get worried, and then eventually to cry in that primal, drawn out moan that every parent knows all too well who has experienced having children with medical conditions of all kinds while sitting in waiting rooms. There is no type of crying like it. It is the worst.

We held her, and told her that we were with her, and that she was safe even though she didn’t feel like it. We’ve both trained ourselves from saying “don’t worry” and “don’t be afraid”. That’s a tough thing to get around, since you really want someone not to be afraid in moments like that. You want them to understand that they are safe, and that they’re not facing everything alone. But, in the end of course, it’s not our call how someone feels about something or a situation they’re in. All we can do is be present along with them in that moment.

So, then we went into the surgery room. There really isn’t any possible way to make a room like that feel friendly. A room like that  will always feel artificial and cold, and slightly unnatural. The thing that makes it a less unpleasant is the attitude of the professionals who work there, and how well they understand empathy. In this, we lucked out.

They had a bottle of soap bubbles for The Girl to play with while they inserted the IV. They put numbing cream on her hand earlier, which is what sparked off the upset. In any case they were pros. We laid her down on the surgery bed, and the the anesthesiologist began to administer the juice, as it were. The Girl became very worried, because that sensation isn’t something you feel everyday. She said “Can we stop? Can we stop this?” and it nearly broke my heart. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, and whispered to her that I was with her.

But, she was already asleep.

The procedure lasted a little less than an hour. They put in two crowns, top and bottom. And then they placed The Girl in the recovery room for another half-hour.  The dentist came out to tell us that everything went well, and about what we could expect in the next few years. Nothing to worry about. One of the assistants came out to tell us how to proceed with food, and any weird side effects (if any) when we got back home. She told us that the Girl “woke up well”, which apparently means that she woke up as you would from a nap, and not from a horrible nightmare. All good.

The Girl’s Mum was prepared with an arsenal of popsicles and ice-cream waiting for her when she got home. Popsicles are like gold to the recovering patient of general anesthesia, because they’re a way to numb any soreness, and get fluid into a doped up body all at once. Who knew?

So, we got her home, just missing rush hour traffic (a big deal for me!), and I carried the Girl to her Mum’s couch, covered her up with blankets, and that was that. She was a bit groggy, and dizzy. But, no wacky side effects or hallucinations or fevers. Sometimes, that can happen. In our case it was just all the popsicles she could eat.

Anyway, now she’s got two silvery crowns. Biting down is going to feel weird for a while until she gets used to it.

I’m glad I was there for it. But, like I said, I was dreading it. If seeing your kid in a school play, or winning a race, or dancing on stage in a recital is like the chocolate cake and ice-cream of parenting, then surely the cold and overcooked brussel sprouts has got to be dental surgery. But,  now she’s been through it. Who knows whether or not she’ll feel better about this kind of thing in the future? But, it will be less of a mystery.  And, it’s been a way to learn about what bravery means, which is doing something you need to do even if you’re afraid, not because you aren’t afraid at all.

There’s got to be a lesson in there, right?

Pass the popsicles!

The Girl and Random I Love Yous

It happens every so often. There is no pattern. It’s just:

“Daddy?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey.”

I don’t question it, and who would.

The Girl and Disco

Source: 1.bp.blogspot.com via Stephanie on Pinterest

Sometime ago, it occurred to me that I should introduce the Girl to disco.

I think there’s some pop song or other on the radio about now that samples “Le Freak” by Chic. Well, I suppose it’s not the first time that’s been done. Anyway the Girl was heard to proclaim “awwww FREAK OUT!” by me at one point. So, I suppose that was the initial inspiration.

Also, disco in its original incarnation was orchestrated music with all of the musical food groups; guitars, bass, keyboards, drums, sure. But, also brass, piles of strings, mallet percussion, and even things like oboes. It’s great music for “spot the instrument”, a leaping off point for teaching the Girl about instruments in general; how they sound, and what part of the music is made better because of them.

I guess another source of inspiration is that disco is all about women. It’s a genre that is unique in Western popular music because it’s dominated by women singers – Donna Summer, Sister Sledge, Thelma Houston, Diana Ross, and a bunch of others. There are a lot of guys who made disco music too, of course. But, disco was one of the only genres where the default was a female lead singer. The call for “girl songs” is a pretty easy button to push when it comes to disco.

In addition to coming out of gay culture, black culture, and immigrant culture, this woman-centrism may be one of the reasons why there was such a backlash against disco toward the end of its original incarnation.  For a while, it represented a cultural inversion, when the feminine voice became mainstream, and the Rule, before The Man noticed it was happening.

So in the light of all that, I did what any self-respecting music geek does when they love someone; I made her a mix. And here’s what she thinks of it.

Freak Out!  Disco 1974 – 1980

1. “Le Freak”  - Chic

This one is the lead-off, the original daddy. This one got her wondering about how the music actually works; which is the on-beat, which is the off-beat, what the heck is a backbeat? There aren’t too many tunes that can set a kid up for this kind of musical lesson, and be this much FUN.

Said the Girl: “It makes me want to DANCE!”

Or, Freak out, as it were. Presumably.

2. “We Are Family” – Sister Sledge

This is of course a tale of sisterly, and womanly, togetherness and empowerment. Disco is great for that kind of thing.

Said the Girl: “What does ‘birds of a feather’ mean? Are they really sisters? “

I think this one appeals to the Girl’s love of family, which is considerable. Otherwise, see the above “it makes me want to DANCE!” sentiments.

3. “Rock With You” – Michael Jackson

My favourite Jackson track. It just exudes innocence and fun that he himself, by all accounts, was denied.

Said the Girl: “He died?”

Yes. But only bodily. We can listen to him anytime.

4. “Upside Down” – Diana Ross

One time Motown pop-soul queen works with Chic (see above) to create an impossibly funky disco smash.

Said the Girl: “respect a me I say to knee…”

The correct lyrics: who needs ‘em?

5. “Funkytown” – Lipps Inc.

Partially instrumental disco/electro crossover hit that’s apparently annoying to some, maybe because it was ubiquitous on the radio in 1980. But, we love it.

Said the Girl: “Talkaboudit, talkaboudit, talkaboudit, talkaboudit …”

Well, what part do you sing?

6.  “September” – Earth, Wind & Fire

Indecipherable lyrics against an undeniable funky groove – what’s not to love? And with lots of horns!

Said the Girl: “This is my favourite because September is my birthday.”

This was a charmingly predictable response. Actually, this was soon amended to second favourite when she heard …

7. “Car Wash” – Rose Royce

The boss don’t mind sometimes if you act a fool. We can all relate to that, I  think.

 Said the Girl: *Clap. Clap. Clap-cuh-clap-clap-clap.*

Sometimes, keeping the beat is more important than words. And yet …

8.  “The Hustle” – Van McCoy

Philly-soul influenced semi-orchestral dance-craze disco hit out during the summer of 1975 – thirty years before the Girl was born! One drawback: not enough words, apparently.

Said the Girl: “I like it when there’s words.”

This is said just before a serious, committed vocal rendition of the melody, with appropriate “doo doo doo-duh-doo-duh-doo-doo-duh” phraseology.

9. “Don’t Leave Me This Way” – Thelma Houston

A dramatic, danceable operatic tragedy. What’s more disco than that?

Said the Girl: “I hear the froggy thing!”

I should explain. The “froggy thing” is the clavinet part. Don’t know what a clavinet is? Well, check out the song. It’s the froggy sound you’re hearing. Glad I could clear that up for you.

10. “Young Hearts Run Free” – Candi Staton

Superb soul singer Staton (check out her earlier recordings on the FAME label, kids)  has a big hit with a disco tune about getting trapped in a bad relationship. It’s a sad song that sounds happy. This is also a disco staple, of course.

Said The Girl: “She sings like Adele!”

Ah, yes. The musical threads are coming together as I had forseen …

11. “Ring My Bell” – Anita Ward

A cheeky little tune about grown-up things that was a hit in 1979 when I myself didn’t know it was a cheeky little tune about grown-up things.

Said The Girl: “Is it ring A bell, or ring MY bell?”

Um. It’s “Ring my bell”. No follow up questions, please.

12. “Night Fever” – The Bee Gees

Falsettoed British singer-songwriters with matching white jumpsuits and dental work with a song appearing on a soundtrack album that would define an era.

Said the Girl: “They sound like they’re really small. They sound like they’re as small as ants and they’re singing into a giant microphone that’s turned up really loud… “

Apt.

But, they were BIG!

13. “Rock The Boat” – Hues Incorporated

A latin-influenced early disco forerunning hit that strains a single, seagoing metaphor to its limits.

Said The Girl: That’s one boy singing with two girls.

Gender parity, erring on the side of “more girls” is important to the Girl.

14. “Last Dance” – Donna Summer

One of the greatest vocalists of the disco era, and a part of a sea change in dance music as the world knew it with Giorgio Moroder’s “I Feel Love”. But, this is my favourite Summer track, and a great closer to the mix.

Said the Girl: “How do you become a singer? Who do you have to ask?’” 

This led to a very rough description of the music business as I understand it. She files it away for later. But, I think the Teacher-Veterinarian career path is still pretty secure.

Well, I hope!

Anyway, there it is – disco. A part of her ongoing cultural education.

Sure, it’s old and it’s supposedly dead. But, disco is the basis for a lot of the pop music she loves that’s new, both directly and indirectly too.  I guess the larger thing here is the idea that stuff happened before she was born that affects how things are now, and that still has value in itself. It’s a history and music lesson all in one.

The Girl and Anger

Recently, the Girl and I spent an evening with her Gramm, her Grandpa G, her Auntie, and two of her cousins. In addition to getting together with them, one of the features of the evening was the promise of even more cousins, another Auntie, and an Uncle from the Island, expected to arrive that evening.

BC Ferries, in their dubious wisdom, decided to cancel the sailing on which the much-beloved Island cousins, Uncle, and other Auntie were waiting. This put the schedule totally out of whack. The result was that by the time the second infusion of familial goodness arrived, it was time for The Girl and I to go; school the next day, bath, and bedtime beckoned. And it was very disappointing not to get to see everyone she’d hoped to see that evening. They were only in town for three days, and booked up to see other people during those days.

Sometimes, life mucks it up for you. It ruins your plans, and makes you feel like you was robbed. It’s a hard lesson at any age, and it never gets easier, even as it becomes less surprising as you get older.

The Girl says: Don’t  keep your feelings on ice, sonny-jim.

One thing about the Girl is that she is often very stoic when it comes to being angry, or disappointed, or sad. Sometimes, she keeps a lot to herself. She holds it in. It might be the British heritage she shares through my side of the family. It’s kind of an impediment.

But on the way home, she was pissed off. Like really pissed off. She made no bones about it.

Now, I’ve inherited that British stoicism in my own way, too. When I was a kid, I too kept a lot inside so as not to cause a fuss. I don’t know where I learned it. I know that it’s healthier to be pissed off, and show that you are when it counts, and manage maturely it when it doesn’t. But, I have to swim upstream myself with this stuff, even today.

Getting back to the Girl being very pissed off in the backseat of the car, the only reasonable thing to do in this case was to agree with her. She’s been waiting all day to see her Island cousins, telling her friends  at school about it before she came. And then, a ferry doesn’t sail when it should, which has nothing to do with her, and she has to go home as soon as they arrive – and I’m talking literally leaving as soon as they got there.

That sucks! Of course it does!

So, she cried and railed all the way home – understandably. Of course, as I mentioned, there are two sides to the “mustn’t grumble” impulse that comes with British heritage. After trying to explain what happened (that’s what a lot of guys do in the face of raw emotion …), and apologizing to her for having to stick to the schedule anyway while knowing how disappointed she was, I heard myself say: “OK, love. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s just making you upset.” Well, “heard myself say”; I said it.

When we arrived at her mum’s, we explained the situation, with The Girl’s anger and disappointment coming through pretty clearly. After a hug, her mum took immediate action, got on the phone, and organized an alternate arrangement, finding a window in a very narrow span of time. While the Girl took her bath, her mum said to me: “I’m glad that she’s showing us how angry she is.”

And I thought to myself: “Of course. This is something to be glad about. She’s being honest, and she’s showing us what’s happening to her on the inside by expressing it outwardly. That’s exactly what we want her to do.” Sure, she took a hard lesson about how life doesn’t always go according to how we want it to go, blah, blah, blah, snore. But I was reminded that it’s also important to say how much that sucks.

It’s a funny thing to say you’re glad to see your kid pissed off, maybe. Or maybe it isn’t, or shouldn’t be. I mean It would be nice if life didn’t ever give her a reason to be angry or disappointed. But, that’s not realistic, is it?

So, when it happens, it’s best to give her room to be pissed off. It’s best to let her say whatever she wants about it, without telling her “I don’t want to talk about it”, or that she’s just “making herself more upset”, when really (perhaps) it’s me that doesn’t want to deal with upset, or seeing it in someone I care about.

Expressing anger and disappointment is healthy, and so is allowing for it in the ones we love without judgement. It’s an embrace of what’s really happening, and it allows everyone involved to develop a broader and more limber emotional vocabulary for more complex emotions, and for other relationships in the present and later on. This is the way our kids learn to manage their own emotions, whatever they are, without someone having to tell them to calm down, or some other disconnected thing that very often has nothing to do with their states of being at all.

This parenting lark isn’t just about teaching, it seems. The whole thing is a mobius strip of getting it right, screwing up, getting new perspectives, and starting again.

The Girl and the Christmas Walk Home

It’s the Christmas season.

Over the years, the whole Christmas deal has taken on a sort of dual nature for me. On the one hand, I still love Christmas. I am reminded of times when I was a child, filled with the wonder and mystery of the season, and the anticipation of decorations, trees, and presents. I am reminded of spending time with my cousins, and grandparents around this time of year, which was always a Christmas highlight for me.

Even now, I love Christmas music. I particularly love the weirder, darker Christmas carols like “Conventry Carol” and “Carol of the Bells”. I like my Christmas to be sort of Gothic, and Victorian.

But, these days, and with those other positives aside, Christmas is largely a drag.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love spending time with people, and enjoying meals together. But, the logistics and expense of the season tend to weigh me down. And it always catches me out, creeps up on me, until I realize how ill-prepared I am for the whole thing. As I get older, I am realizing how solitary a person I am, or am becoming. Being social, and being organized around it is hard work for me. Christmas magnifies this, sometimes unpleasantly. It doesn’t help that our cultural baggage as a nation is getting heavier, and heavier.

Here in the early 21st century, Christmas has become a terribly crass thing all around. It’s become even more commercial than ever, of course. We’ve all heard that song before, and singing it doesn’t seem to change anything anyway. But in this particular era in which I’m writing this, it’s also become terribly, and tiresomely political.

So-called “War On Christmas” rhetoric cropping up every year mostly by reactionary right-wing broadcasters and Facebook trolls only vaguely covers its culturally entitled origins. Not to be outdone, a special brand of hand-wringing, bed-wetting political correctness around the subject of holidays and holiday greetings by the liberal left are becoming equally irritating to me. It’s as if you have to choose one side over the other like a civil war, and with no space for dialogue in between.

What kind of celebration are we meant to have with all of that racket going on?

To me, Christmas has become the noisiest time of the year when it’s meant to be a season of reflection. It hands the cultural and social divisions between us a great big bullhorn at a time of the year when we should really be thinking about connection and community. Christmas has become a time when our spirits of giving are discoloured by a sense of cultural obligation. It is a complicated thing, rather than being a time that should allow us the space to enjoy the simple, priceless things that make life worth living in the first place; serenity, belonging, and togetherness.

“Awright, Jones. Where is the Girl in all of this? We don’t come here to hear you rant. More Girl!”

Alright, then.

The Girl is my ballast through out this.

Really, it’s her point of view that saves me at this time of year. It’s she who guides me back into the mindset that first made me fall in love with Christmas in the first place. In some ways, even if it is my turn to sprinkle some magic on the season which is what was done for me when I was a child, she doesn’t really need too much of my help anyway.

She is still a native to the version of the world where Santa Claus and his North Pole-based forces of good quietly watch over the children of the world. She perfectly envisions and holds to her heart a guy who traverses the night skies on Christmas Eve, eating cookies, drinking milk, and delivering treasures, without asking for anything in return except for the joy it puts into the world; no profits, no political agendas. For her, the stories still have immutable impact. So, when I say “it’s my turn” to inject the magic into the season, it really turns out more so like a return when I join The Girl in contemplating the joys of it.

We were walking home a week or so ago, back from a movie. We saw a 3:20 PM show which let out around 5:00 PM. In this part of the world and at this time of year, that means darkness. It usually means rain, too. But, it was a clear, cold night. As we walked up the hill near my apartment, I had a Christmas moment.

I live in an historic part of town complete with post-Victorian homes that are intermingled with newer condos and rental flats. The street was lit up with Christmas lights. The Girl and I held hands. She always has warm hands. The Christmas lights adorned the old houses, and the trees and shrubs out front. And suddenly, a great quiet wrapped itself around us like a great, comfy quilt.

Our chatter ceased. Our pace slowed. And we looked at the lights in that silent street. If we spoke, it was in whispers, with our exchanges mostly having to do with how wonderful the lights looked, how otherworldly they seemed. They floated there in the dark like gentle, multicoloured spirits. Something of the quiet that I so treasure at this time of year was mine in that string of fleeting moments.

That feeling of childhood wonder returned. And The Girl was with me. I’m sure that I will have other memories of this Christmas season. But, they’ll have to be pretty good to beat that moment.

I often wonder about the kinds of experiences that will stay with The Girl as she gets to be an adult.  But, whichever ones do, I hereby wish her those things at Christmas time, and at all times of the year, which we greatly treasure, and seem so elusive to us as we pass from childhood to maturity; serenity, belonging, and togetherness, yes.

But, everlasting childhood wonder, too.

Joyeaux Noel!