My Sunday visit with my folks wound up being a neighborhood spectacle. Jimmie, my kick-ass cyclist girlfriend (married to my childhood friend and neighbor), whisked Tyoma up, starling him into a loud crying jag. All the neighborhood women fussed and cooed over him.
I had a National Geographic moment, realizing that our little gathering of women was at one with tribes in Africa and Asia. What cheerful women! Joanne was flushed and happy, almost as if Tyoma was her grandkid. This was understandable, since I grew up with her two youngest sons and we split our time between her house and my mom’s.
Irene, our neighbor with Alzheimer’s, stopped by, said “I came to see the baby,” and launched into a inexplicable story about a bird she saw the day before. Every move baby made was praised and commented upon. I didn’t know if I should have felt embarrassed or proud! Anyway, I dragged myself away from the adulation to enjoy a guitar playing session with the folks.
I took some more pics, but I’m a goof and they were mostly over exposed. BUT, here’s my mom:
Misty was so jazzed over the commotion and guitar playing that she ran all around the back yard shaking her little lamby toy. Tyoma was a bit freaked, but he seems a bit freaked out in general. He loved Grandpa’s guitar and experimented with string plucking. Dad serenaded us all, singing folk songs and some flamenco as well.