There's this adorable kid who has taken to doing laps around the same time I do. He's probably 10 or 11, and just so much fun to talk to. He 'races' me while I'm swimming, but is competent enough I don't worry about collisions (though he is trying to figure out the whole side breathing thing.) His accent always makes me want to pronounce his name, Guy, in the french fashion. It's so slight, I can't be sure, but it seems francophonic islands. There's a lilt. Anyway, he's just so alive and pure sunshine. He wanted to know all about my cats tonight (I think he must've overheard my conversation with another of the regulars.) An older woman was there with him, and when they left, I told her how much I enjoyed talking to him, and how he was just such a sweet and sunny kid, so considerate and curious. She blink, lit up, and in a totally b'more local accent tells me he's her grandbabyboy.

I *think* I've heard his mother, and that's definitely where the accent comes from, but I'm so curious.

I'm drawing out all the talkers lately. From the crotchety old blue-collar-b'more barely-concealed racist white lady (I know all about her diabetes and open heart surgery and how she hates kids and gets all irate at everyone in the pool and narrates her life to anyone who will listen) to Mike, the heart-on-his-sleeve blues guitarist doing pt in the pool for his MS. Last night he told me his whole decade long saga of neurological tics that only last year culminated in a diagnosis, largely due to a lack of continuity of care due to lack of insurance. Unprompted. And wept talking about the support he gets at the Y. Which granted, a little odd for a discussion with someone you just met in the pool, but he struck me as just one of those special folk. A bit on the far side socially different, but in the way that makes people protective, cause he was just so sweet.

I like Mike and Guy. Old crotchety racist? Well, you never know what you get to go bug-eyed at and say WHAT THAT IS NOT NICE. (And she blithely goes on. She's unteachable. And possibly nuts.)

I just made three reblogs disagreeing with the post. I'm taking a tumblr break for a couple hours.

BTW, Tom (?) submitted that Good News paper already!

That was me.

Oh, man, chicken noodle soup is a classic for a reason. I am quite pleased with my dinner.

One of the best things I ever had was homemade chicken noodle soup when I was sick. It was Christmas, Jake was only three months old, and I was so sick -- fever, chills, all of it. Stephen actually made homemade noodles, too.

It was the one positive thing I reblogged! And for naught...CRUSHED.

Sorry--noncombative thing. I think I was being totally positive in the TRUTH sense.

Which isn't necessarily applicable, but it was when I did it. Just then. Around the paper.

Oh, that is the best, Amy! Soup made for you when you are sick is like nothing else. And with homemade noodles, yeah.

He's pretty cool like that.

Today was a sad day. I should go read Good Stuff.