That's me breathless from dancing "strip the willow" at a ceilidh on Saturday night. The ceilidh was filled with Scots who could dance, Scots who couldn't dance, men in kilts who could whirl me silly, and one particularly crusty old guy who just liked the polka bits of all the dances. The band leader taught the dances as best he could til he gave up and berated us all in good fun. "That's not really dancing," he said to me on the mike for all to hear, "but you can stay to keep the numbers even."I'm reading "Einstein's God," and I'm surprised at the fundamental understanding my son has of Einstein's groundbreaking rules of the universe. The other day on the walk home, he said to me, "Time goes faster when you're moving. I don't like waiting. Waiting is slow and boring." "Yes indeed Einstein," I said. He said, "I'm not an Einstein. I'm just your son." I'm not saying my son is a genius. I've got proof of the contrary such as when he started to make fart noises on his arm on the walk home to make time go faster.
We danced til midnight and then had popcorn with our sitter and her mum til 1 am. New friends and a good sitter also make time go faster and I'm not smart enough to turn that into a rule of the universe, though I do have hair worse than Einstein's. We're very thankful that great people seem to find us where ever we land. I'm off to NYC for a few days with other good friends that have found us along the way. Time is sure to fly...
