This morning we walked up the hill planning to have breakfast at the hotel we stayed in a few years back while passing through town. The homes up here are clearly where the officers of the mining company lived a hundred years ago—well spaced, large, and located where they might actually catch a breeze. We worked up a good sweat climbing the stairs up the hill only to discover that the hotel wasn’t serving breakfast. Go figure. We tramped back down and ate in the only air-conditioned place we could find.
We used to get Ouest a helium-filled balloon at least weekly, but Lowe, being the second child has rarely seen one. He was fairly stoked by it and would definitely have walked right out into the street with his head tilted skyward had we not kept a close watch. Of course being a boy his balloon only lasted ten minutes before the pony it was tied to was thrown through a set of rusty metal bars. Boom. Being the forward thinkers we are, we had spares on hand.
Below is what happens these days when we actually say the words, “Can you guys smile for a picture.” So natural.
And this is what happens to little girls who don’t heed their parent’s warnings to stay off the hot wooden deck by the marina pool. Blistered toes.
In the afternoon Ouest and I took a dinghy ride around the harbor to take pictures. After ten minutes she said, “Papa, my legs are tired.” This is code for, “Papa, I’m ready to go back home.”