November 4, 2021: Play Park -

We were up in the train engine at the play park, which let us survey the whole space from on high, when a big boy, maybe eight years old, spidered past us up near the ceiling. Outside the train, a young mother with glorious curls was looking all around and calling, "Jim? Jim?" She wasn't seriously worried, just trying to get a visual.

"Are you Jim?" I asked him.  He shook his head silently, and crept onward, keeping us between him and the young mom. "I think you are probably Jim," I said.  He jumped off the back of the engine and sprinted away, but she saw him.  

"There you are!" she said.

"I asked him if he was Jim," I said, "But he denied it."

"Well," she said, "he would." She was completely unflapped that he had run off. "I like your accent," she said.

"Thank you," I said, "I've been working on it my whole life."

"Oh!" she said, and she pulled on a long curl, "That's what I say when people compliment my hair! I say, 'Thanks, I grew it all by myself.'"

We smiled at each other, smart aleck to smart aleck. 

"So," she said, "American? Canadian?" We exchanged home towns and accent observations, and she tried to teach me how to sound Bristolian. Jim dashed past in an entirely new set of clothing. She said, "Twins. I wanted them to be Jim and Ted, but that one goes by Theo. You have a lot of Jims, right? I think 'Jim' is cute."

I said we had a lot of adult Jims, but right now, the fashion for small Jims appeared to be going by James. She shook her head. 

She asked how often I came to visit, and I said, sorrowfully, that it had been only once a year so far. She said, "It's a terrible country, and the weather's bad! You should move here!"

The weather is a lot like Portland. 

I really can't imagine leaving home, though. Still, I was thoroughly charmed by the invitation. I'd like to see her in the play park.