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I took the 11 year old (the middle gel) to her annual opthimil  opthomolg offtho eye-doctor visit this morning.  (Fortunately, she still does not need glasses.)

It seems to me that I don’t post about this gel as much as the other two.  Perhaps it’s because she hasn’t her elder sistah’s hair-trigger temper nor her younger sistah’s wild-child exuberance, and is consequently very much less of a handful.   In fact, she’s cheerful and considerate and seems to observe the world with an amused eye, a trait that will take her very far in coming years.  The only danger in having this one child who is both dependable and self-contained is that she might get lost in the confusion as Mrs. Robbo and I dash with fire-hoses from one conflagration started by her siblings to another.

At any rate, it was All Her this morning, and as we chatted I got the chance to catch up with her and see how things were going.  The waiting room at the doc’s office contained a large, poorly done painting of a boy in a towel on the sea-shore surrounded by gulls.  We took to talking about it.  After roundly damning the artist for his or her poor grasp of anatomy, the gel began to question why the boy was on the beach in the first place.  We eventually established that he had been exiled from his house for not listening to his parents, and now was forced to wander the sands, subsisting on raw seagull meat when he could catch them, and maintaining a constant vigil against pirate raids.   This lead to a discussion of the dangers of drinking salt water and of maintaining a fortified fall-back position at all times. 

After the exam was over, the gel got a pair of those wrap-around shades to protect her still-dilated pupils.  I told her they made her look like Jackie Onassis.  I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know who Jackie Onassis was or why I made the remark, but she knew I was making a joke of some sort and giggled appreciatively.  That’s the kind of gel she is.

On the way to St. Marie of the Blessed Educational Method, I mentioned an article I had read in the local fish-wrapper about plans to put in a new trail near the Port-Swiller homestead.  “That’s great,” she said, “Then you and I can go on it.  Just us.  Nobody else.”

I think it’s a date.


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February 2011