Mima Monday November 25th. I had told Sissel, who had already mastered a couple of card games, that I would teach her how to play gin rummy. So, we sat down with a cup of tea and a deck of cards. I explained that the goal of this game, like so many card games, was to end up with an empty hand – no cards. As she sat staring with those big calm blue eyes, her mouth set in concentration, I shuffled and dealt. We played the first hand open so she could see how it is done. She won. We played a couple of more hands open, but she had already mastered every subtlety of what was coming (like a chess player, really). We played about 6 hands, and she skunked me on 5! And, by the way, I am a very good gin player, having learned it at the knee of Grandma Ruthie who was also a very good card player. “Card sense” as she said. I really thought it would take a couple of days worth for Sissel to catch on. What WAS I thinking?! She was pretty much an expert after one hand. I do not think I have ever seen anyone catch on so fast. Then we switched to a few hand of SPIT, and good as I am at that game and confident of my own ability since I had done admirably when we played in Sonoma, this time I lost every hand to her flying fingers. She will remind of BS next Monday.

A few days ago, Sissel and I were noticing that boys and girls talk about different things and that girls talk about boys long before boys talk about girls. Sissel said that at lunch the other day, at the girls’ table they were taking about crushes, and I interrupted with, “You have separate tables at lunch boys and girls?”

“No, she said, and then with a little motion of those graceful always expressive hands, each one fluttering in opposite directions, she said, “We just flock separately.”

A few minutes later came the adventure of her recounting what happened when she left the girl-table and jointed the boy-table. At the objection of the boys who thought she should sit at the girl table, she said with a smile, “That’s not your choice.” But she ended up going back to the femme-table. Her choice.

I was cleaning my stove top with boiling water last week, and as I poured it over the grease splatter and wiped it to a high sheen, Sissel said, “That is great. It could be a satisfying video you could post to youtube.”

“Well, I guess I could, but…”

“Lots of people do it,” she said. “Have you ever seen it?”

“Oh, sure, I have seen lots of youtube videos.”

“Have you ever seen the Satisfying Videos?”

“You mean there are youtube with special satisfying videos?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s a genre.”

I was mute. Genre?

“Also a genre of unsatisfying videos,” she said. Like cutting a tomato with a very sharp knife would be the satisfying one. Cutting that tomato with a butter knife, unsatisfying video.

Vocab 5 stars for that girl!!!!

Yesterday Sissel and I attended a holiday tea given by her long-time friend Joyce Glick at the Comstock. It was a gorgeous affair attended by about 20 of Joyce’s close friends. The table was laden with the most beautiful pastries, exotic cheeses, cucumber sandwiches, and a buffet of teas served in individual delicate English bone-china tea-pots. We all just visited. People were, of course and as always, thrilled to meet Sissel.

After about 20 minutes of meeting and greeting new people, Joyce called for us to form a circle, join hands and offer the group our name and a blessing in our lives. Sissel was a little shy about it but, always the most perfect sport, dove right in with her name and a blessing in her life. One of the women told about wearing a safety pin to show support for the vulnerable in this world. Sissel was right up on that one. Such a worldly girl!

After the party was over I asked her how she felt about that ritual. She did not know. I asked her if she ever thought about blessings in her life. She did. Then the conversation elevated further when I asked her how she felt about the philosophy that we need to have negative in our lives to recognize the positive by comparison. We chatted about that for a bit. Then I asked her what she thought of people who were always focusing on the negative. She did know how she felt about those folks and, in a nano-second, said, “Boring.” It is always, ‘Oh, no.’ ‘Oh, no.’ ‘Oh, no.’ ‘Oh, no.'”

The other day in Sonoma, we (Sissel, Mommy, Daddy, Juju, and Mima) were all sitting in the room together doing potty talk. When Mima left, Sissel said, “This is the BEST group of people for potty talk.” Then she went on to say that Mima is usually the one who tries to bring the potty talk down a notch or two. “She always tries to show us the serious point underneath it all. But we bury it right up again!”

Let’s not forget this comedy gem from about a month ago: Sissel and I were at the log park having our traditional tamago/seaweed/coffee breakfast picnic, when she dropped a piece of tamago into the sand. When I told her she needed to pick it up so we could throw it away, she grimaced and groused about how disgusting the sand-coated egg was and how she just couldn’t bear to touch it. I pointed out that tamago is a good thing that she actually puts in her mouth, and sand is a good thing that she likes to play in…so two good things mixed together couldn’t be THAT gross.

In response to my reasoning, she swiftly provided this counter example: “Well, food by itself isn’t gross, and stomach acids by themselves aren’t gross, but when you mix them both together and shoot them out your butthole…”  !!! Point taken. (Although we did dispose of our litter.)

Tonight, Sissel, Andres, and I were walking home from dinner, and discussing what time we pluck her out of school (early) tomorrow for our road trip to Fresno. She asked us if we would pick her up at morning snack time instead of at lunch time. When I said, “Sure, why not,” she exclaimed, “I’m BEAMING with DELIGHT!!!”

Two days ago Mima Monday, Sissel and I were talking about the game of Charades. She had heard of Dancing Charades but not the traditional, so I explained how the the game went and included instructions on the pantomime that indicated the category. I opened my arms and mouth to indicate singing if it is a song title,  opened my hands in book style to indicate a book title, rotated my fist around with my ulna as the fulcrum to indicate filming a movie. So far so good. Then I made those quotation marks near my ears to indicate a famous saying. I thought maybe Sissel did not know what a famous saying was, so I asked her if she knew why quotation marks are used. “To show when someone says something,” she said. I gave her “Haste makes waste,” as an example of a famous saying, to which she said, “Not always true.” And, then after a second or two, she asked with the slightest echo of shyness, “Is ‘practice makes perfect’ one?” I was so excited at how fast she caught on (although when since birth has she ever not?) that I erupted with “Yes, yes, exactly!” Well, the little attorney had me dead to rights. “Not always true. You might be practicing the wrong thing.” And then we talked about a few more and how in reality aphorisms were not to be counted on as absolute truth. Gosh I love talking to her.

Sissel outdid herself in cuteness and growinupiness today! In the morning, she made waffles for us all for  breakfast, and even asked if we wanted ours brought upstairs to us.

Then we went for a walk and picnic in GG Park. Andres and I were going the lazy route (buy gyros) but Sissel was far too classy for that. She packed a picnic of fancy crackers, triple-cream brie, and apples. Oh, and a silver spreading knife and cloth napkins.

Later that day, We were telling her how impressed we were with all the grownup things she had done, and she said, “Well, you guys take such good care of me; I like to do things to take care of my family.”

As Sissel and I were driving to my house yesterday we noticed a dude on the sidewalk, seated on his skateboard, cruising swiftly down a steep part of Oak Street. She then informed me, horrified, that he was “looking at his cell phone! He’s not even paying attention!” I predicted that he might be about to get an owie. Sissel pointed out that maybe he’s a really good skateboarder. We then chatted for a minute about how both of those things might be true: he probably is a really good skateboarder, and he probably will be getting an owie.

Then, with the most perfectly dismissive timing, Sissel said, “Or maybe he’s just dumb.” (We ultimately decided that all three assessments could co-exist.)