As far as I know, Noah’s viewing of Disney’s animated The Jungle Book more than a year ago was not a defining moment. I was barely able to get him to sit through part of the jazzed out temple bacchanalia. Now he’s doing what he calls the ‘monkey dance’ complete with simian sound effects as he careens around the front room. Had I not known better I would have thought he was Mowgli’s understudy. He has some boppin’ riffs that even King Louis would have loved to claim as his own choreography.
Our boy is a dancer. His first joyful steps were to the accompaniment of Diogal’s Sore performed in this video at the Satellit Café in Paris. Not long after he stabilized upright he locked the rhythm down simmering sweet. He’s got a groove and it’s good to the see the mostly unihibited moves as he shakes, extends, bends and spins on the ground. Diogal, thanks for the initial inspiration, his first gift of dance.
With so much dance in the air, it’s à propos that we read It’s a George Thing. George is a zebra who serendipitously discovers that dance is his thing. It gives him a newfound confidence and a means to express himself. 
Dance is a passion he can share. Great story by David Bedford and illustrations by Russell Julian. The book has a tongue in cheek dedication to John Travolta. Sure to bring bedtime smiles and giggles for the three to six-year-old crowd.
Music and dance are soul mates and Noah loves them both. He’s relaying his passion to Nellie-Rose. She’s a welcome recipient experimenting in her own right with sound and movement. In fact, we’ve taken to riding with a small drum in the back seat of the car. I saw it sitting there between the car seats on a recent solo drive and thought, “This is going to be trouble.” It’s surprising though how just the one, a small one it must be emphasized, can have a soothing effect and provide great accompaniment to la ferme à Maturin, Old MacDonald’s. So far, it’s a great car toy but I wouldn’t want to contend with this while driving…
After the jam session, Nellie and I go out for our own pas de deux where rolling waves meet the beach at Rainbow Haven. It starts calamitously. I lose sight of her walking to the car. As I swing open my door I hear a soft thud and a wail of disbelief. Nellie is on her back in the driveway sobbing, tears streaming down her face. Fortunately a neighbour is walking by with a small puppy. She comes over and the distraction gradually dispels the tears.
Out at water’s edge, the foaming sea snakes up the beach, slithering in, whispering out. Nellie has her puddle hoppers on, unsure at first if she should retreat from the advancing water. She looks up into my face for a cue. With a big smile and a couple of words I encourage the fun and frolic option. I let her 
know that she’s safe and that I will stay close. It’s not long before a hesitant toe dip is a full fledged assault and Nellie becomes an island in the midst of shifting eddies.
This is all great fun, a salt tinged breeze on a mild October day, fine rocks to collect on the almost abandoned beach, the calming sound of breaking surf and time to be with my baby passing in an unhurried ebb and flow tempo. Her next move jags me out of my pastoral. She’s horizontal again looking up at the sky and getting wet as the last traces of water on the piece of beach she’s occupying gets sucked back into the sea. Into my arms for a cuddle. She’s a bit damp but none the worse for wear. Wet enough though for us to start making tracks home but not quite so bad that there can’t be a detour for some contemplative freestyle puddle exploration. It’s not as tricky as the run and dash water at the beach.
Sunday we’re on the road for Windsor – home of the giant pumpkins and the world’s first pumpkin regatta. Linus lovers of the world unite. This is the pumpkin patch gone out of its gourd. It’s a great pumpkin happening like no other and an inventive solution to stretching the tourist season.
Thousands of people are taking in the Childen’s Wish Foundation parade. First we hang out under the sign of the Tim”s where we get a pretty good view of some of the floats. We venture into the crowds on Water Street and one of the bystanders quips, “Look a double decker. And one 
in the oven.” The parade is almost over but these curbside bon mots as we roll by on the street make us feel like we’re part of it all.
We stroll down to waterside in search of those fabled pumpkin bateaux. This is Lake Pezaquid where the real action takes place. All eyes are drawn to the expanse of chilly water. Every 30 seconds or so, Noah wants to know, “Did it start yet?”. The crowds are getting denser and there’s a real carnival atmosphere along the downtown shore. Noah, Nellie and another young girl are adding to the merriment with their game of run-dance-tag. Vendors from Amherst, Halifax and Hants County make sure there’s greasy food par excellence and fresh produce to go the rounds. The real find is the stand selling giant home-baked cookies decorated with liberal amounts of Hallowe’en icing motifs. They’re so big that eating an entire cookie brings me to the brink of nausea but I just can’t pull back.
Noah’s perched on my shoulders to watch the first heat. It’s the motorized class. One of the three contestants is stranded not even halfway across the lake, dead in the water. The other two chug along toward our shore. There’s not much of a wake behind either vessel. Speed is relative in this event. In second place is is an 11-year-old boy. He’ll have some great bragging rights at school.
We’ve been standing around for over two hours and the chill is starting to penetrate our clothes. We’re all feeling a little dog-eared and ready to roll for home. If the weather’s nice next year we’ll time it differently so we can take in the paddlers. They’re the biggest contingent in the event as they cross the lake like an undisciplined, bobbing armada.
As proud as it is of its pumpkins, Windsor has a lot more to offer. It’s the Birthplace of Hockey as the 
highway sign proudly proclaims. There are pretenders to the throne but the Town maintains that it has near irrefutable evidence to make good it claim.
Windsor is also home to Mermaid Theatre, an internationally renowned children’s touring troupe. The company purchased the old Imperial Theatre in 2003 and now presents a series of cultural events throughout the year. In 2010 stay tuned for the return of The Very Hungry Caterpillar an award winning theatrical adaptation of Eric Carle’s children’s book.
We finish up the holiday weekend on an overdose of turkey and chocolate pie topped with hand whipped cream brought over by daughter Alexa and boyfriend Jordan. It’s good to see them both and we tune in for some art school, university tales. It’s a wonderful unrushed afternoon and I’m glad they are able to make the time for an Eastern Passage trip.
Nellie-Rose is on a roll. Newness is just flying out of her mouth. It seems that all words and phrases are eligible, up for grabs in the oral mimicry sweepstakes. They mostly slide off her tongue with the greatest of ease though some have a peculiar pronunciation. 
Noah surfaces from his afternoon nap. He is hot, sweaty. His face is sad. With tears welling in his eyes and mouth downturned he isn’t a poster boy for happy, happy, or restfulness. He tells me about his nap time dream starring Noah and un homard – a lobster. Lobster’s name is lobster lobster and he and Noah are friends. They are having a swell time playing amongst the rocks in a stream. Everything is perfect until maman makes an incursion into the scene, grabs lobster lobster and cuts him up into pieces bringing the idyll to an abrupt and traumatizing end. Poor lobster lobster, and poor Noah-David. His lower lip quivers and a few tears brim over as he relates this sordid tale of betrayal.
At the beginning and end of each day camp session Noah races to the toys and grabs his favourite, a small plane with retractable wheels under the nose and mid-fuselage. The fate of the passengers is literally in his hands as he lowers the wheels on his final descent bringing the the bird in for a landing. It is his second, non-consecutive week of day camp this summer. Every morning a smile of anticipation blossoms as he gets ready for what he calls pre-kindergarten. It’s a very positive adventure to be hanging, playing and socializing with kids his own age. 
CommuterDad 