The best part of moving to Pacific is that we now live across the street from George. He was over yesterday, for most of the afternoon. My friend and I played Scrabble in the dining room while George wandered around humming. Every couple of trips through the kitchen, he ran, chased by some burst of imagination. He hid behind the couch until all was clear, emerging with a shrug and a grin.
"Can you believe this kid?" I asked my friend who knows what it means to have a spirited child. My friend shook his head and beat me 313 to 296. In our family, when my mom lost, she always blamed it on having terrible letters. I could make no such claim. The guy is plan smarter than I am, way more than the score implies.
This winter, George had his first skate. I videoed until the battery ran out. I didn't know what I was going to get. Turns out, I caught quite a bit. In twenty minutes George goes from not being able to stand up straight, to blocking shots on goal. But it is the free form playing, continuously orbiting George that is equally instructive.
P.S. I've never made meatloaf.