Under a leaden grey sky, we walked with the grandbabies and helped Kelly slide down some wet slides, negotiate some slippery ramps, and then we had the pleasure of watching both children on the swings. When I was a child, I remember quite clearly that a boy in our neighbourhood pumped himself so high that the swing went over the top of the metal scaffolding. The boy fell to earth with a thump and (I think) broke his arm on impact. The actual nature of swings hasn’t evolved much — still those thick chains, the seats made of rubber or wood. But the ground underneath, once paved with asphalt or else dirt, is now covered with soft padded carpet.
Henry loved the feel of the metal part of the swing in his mouth, gnawing and sucking. Thank goodness it wasn’t cold. (That old Canadian story…) And there was time to look out on False Creek where geese swam, the little ferries crossed back and forth, and the moments counting down until we return home to the Sechelt peninsula tomorrow and these guys fly back to Edmonton on Wednesday.
...Theresa Kishkan, writer... 