Tyke Tossing
Last night was Mum's 69th birthday. We had a glorious California evening of bocce ball, wine and food and it was great fun. (Bocce is definitely the sport of codgers: low, slow and close to the ground seems to be what it is all about.) The Niece is now a glorious two, the only child in a forest of grown ups. I think she is rather swell, even if she needs to be reintroduced to me every time before warming completely and dragging me everywhere. We have a new game: jumping. T. stands in front facing out into her adoring public, crouches and springs and I throw her the rest of the way up above my head. We allow gravity to help us out on the way down. The years of benchwarming and spectating partnerwork at the Pretentiousville Ballet Academy have finally paid off. The old Dance Master had spent his youth and performing life with Balanchine and was overly fond of the big ugly squatty pre-jump pliés that make even the most limber and elegant body look like a grenade explosion waiting t...