Santa Monica

Our kitchen -- or at least part of it -- has turned into the beach.  Several times a day, or perhaps quite a bit more, Helena declares that she is on her way to Santa Monica, loads up several of her stuffed animals in her toy stroller, puts on her sunglasses, and heads off.

Santa Monica is a fun place: there's a beach, big swings, a place where people walk and play music, and (most important to Helena Iara) an aquarium.  She goes to the aquarium, picks starfish out of their tank (the tank is actually the iron support that holds the loft up), shows the seahorses to her stuffed cats, and trembles in fear of the sharks (she does it quite well, so much so that we sometimes wonder if it is just playacting).

When we were in Los Angeles last month, we did all of these things with Helena: she is both playing and remembering (and, to a certain degree, campaigning: she wants us to see how much she loves the ocean and the things around it!).  But there is something wonderful about this make-believe, a joy that seems even more intense than when she was swinging on the beach.

"Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit," are the words Virgil puts into the mouth of Aeneas as he and his comrades suffer outside the walls of Troy: "Someday, perhaps, even this will be sweet to remember."  And when the sweetness of memory gets mixed with the play of a child, the smile on a baby's mouth is wonderful for everyone.