What, Indeed?

It's 6:10 already. Andrew's working late, Josie's off at Dylan's, Simon and I are puttering around the kitchen trying to decide if we should try to pull some sort of dish together to bring over to the Block Party on Juneau Street, or if we should just heat up some leftovers to eat at the counter and then wander over to the party just to chat. We're waiting for a call from the Streets to come pick them up at the train station -- they've been in Wales, Greece, and Turkey for six weeks, and BOY have we missed them! For some reason Simon has taken a sudden, deep interest in tin can string phones -- Do they really work? My memory is yes, they do. But sweetheart, it's been a long, long, long time, and what I really need to do right now is get us both something to eat.

"Can we make one?" he wants to know.

"Sure, but we need some cans." I say.

Which is how we wound up having sweet potato coconut milk custard for dinner. Or at least, as a supplement to our leftovers.


With a bunch of sugar, it's kind of like pudding.

Time to test the string phone. We figure we have to get far enough away from each other that we can be sure we we're not just, you know, hearing each other talk. So I go way down the block, and Simon stands in front of our house with Harriet and Susan, who have wandered by and stayed to watch.

And after a little experimentation we discover that if we keep the string really taut, and if I put the can right over my ear, and put my finger in my other ear, and really concentrate, I can barely make out a thin -- you might even call it tinny -- little voice saying, "Can you hear me, Mom? If you can hear me, lift up your foot!" So I lift up my foot, and Simon is extremely pleased. So is Harriet. (I can tell, even without the audio.)

Just then, a taxi pulls up down the block and disgorges the Streets and all their luggage! They had decided that after a full day's travel, complete with airsickness and overly-industrious customs officials, they were not up for the whole airport-to-shuttle-bus-to-light-rail-to-car-to-home-quadruple-transition-marathon with their three children and ten suitcases. We recognized their silhouettes right away even from halfway down the block and started running. (Did I mention that we have missed the HECK out of these folks?) Ioan got to us first, and tried to swerve to avoid a hug, but I grabbed him anyway. He submitted with only minor grumbling, and then pulled away, clucking his tongue impatiently.

"Okay!" he demanded, "What's next?"