Pointy Finger

For some time now, Morgen has been making use of her pointy finger, and of her flail-y hand. Gone are the days of unhappy stroller rides. Now, Morgen goes out on the town ready to point, flail, or squeal at just about anything that moves, or if immobile, at anything even remotely interesting.

 

While we pushed her along on her morning outing today, I kept remembering a visit to Port Dover, pre-Morgen. We rented a little row house, spent a week exploring the town and local regional attractions, and shyly returned the cordial greetings of the townspeople. These greetings began as soon as we stepped out of the car with our suitcases (a neighbour from three houses over and across the street called "Hello"). Today Morgen waved and squealed and smiled at dozens of Torontonians, their dogs, cars, and children, but not one of them waved, pointed, or squealed back. Some elderly ladies smiled at us, which was nice. I think Morgen might like to be a small town girl.