This morning I spent a few quiet hours up in the countryside of Connecticut with my grandson Noah. When I arrived, he started bouncing with excitement, as he usually does, but soon he quieted down as we sat on the floor and played with his many imaginary playscapes. I always enjoy making up names for some of his little plastic people, and today, for some reason, they took on Spanish names. Little Roberto visited a snail named Enrique and a seal known as Jose, and the three of them had an interesting adventure (with the help of Noah and me). Noah, I think, likes it when I make up stories and use my different accents (which are not very good). I noticed him absolutely staring at me as I spoke with Roberto’s Latin accent. We played quietly (8-month-old Ava was napping) for an hour two, including a break for a lunch consisting of tortillas, smoothies, and the luscious seeds of a large pomegranate.

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It’s now 7:54 p.m. I just returned from a brisk walk through the park. The many lights brightened the path, and the park seemed extra lovely in the cold winter darkness.