1. FABULOUS coffee at Jo-Jos on Pratt Street (see yesterday's post)
2. Walk through Bushnell park and under big important historical civic building. One carving on which was labelled Hooker's March but judging by the pointy pilgrim hatted figure in it, not an allusion to the nightlife sort. Childish I know but you would have thought the same.
3. Market with friends and food.
4. Bus ride to friends house. $1.25. Children free.
5. Playing with friends at said house.
6. Bus ride back. Brazilian flag in hand. (a keepsake of Sam's young love)
7. Light but lovely dinner.
9. Listing items for blog.
10. Hopefully proving that a list is not as much fun as a moderately structured stream of consciousness.
11. Stopping the list thing before anyone believes I am taking it the suggestions too seriously.
12. Looking forward to tomorrow's Skyped review.
Now I'll get on with the over-wordy bit.
The afore moentioned flag now lies scrumpled on the desk. They say history repeats itself. It seems fitting that one of our little fella's first female friendships is with a young Brazilera. His father some ten years back was involved for almost a decade with one such also. I know the presentation of the gift certainly brought a wry smile to his Dad's face. The two tykes (Talita and Sam not Sam and his Dad) tired themselves out good and proper and shrieked, skipped, ran, jumped and argued their way through the minefield that is three. By the end of the afternoon they were hugging desperately. Sammy slightly weepy, waved goodbye at the bus stop (I like nothing better to ride local buses in new places especially when it allows you a glimpse of another reality aside from the carefully manicured centre of town. I spied some authentic looking mexican ma and pa places and a cluster of chapels in apartment blocks with hand painted signs written in Spanish most of whose pastora's were women) but nevertheless managed a "Have a good swim!" before the flood gates really opened in earnest (she was off to a swim class, it wasn't just one of his metaphysical salutations). A good day had by all. We are set to hit the Mother Goose session at the library tomorrow morning. I pray we encounter the sort of librarian who doesn't take the view that stories must be shrieked in that hyper talking-to-under-5's voice, or, like some parents I meet, the what I like to call the piercing parenting voice. I believe it is a phallacy that decibel level will determine attention level from young ears. I usually find the opposite is true for our boy. Hey-ho. Room for everyone I spose. As long as some golden eggs are laid, we'll all be happy.