Yesterday (Saturday), I was sitting in a bus on the way up to town. All was peaceful. Until a woman, complete with grandson, got on and sat down nearby.
The little boy would be three, maybe four, and he immediately started chatting to his Omi about playgroup. Their conversation went something like this:
Child: Playgroup chatter chatter chatter – LOOK, Omi! THE LAKE!
Omi: Yes, it’s a lovely view from up here, isn’t it?
Child: Chatter chatter chatter – LOOK!! SNOW!!
Omi: There’s still lots of snow on the mountains, isn’t there?
Child: Chatter chatter chatter – LOOK, Omi!!! LAMBS!!!
Omi: Aren’t they sweet?
Child: Chatter chatter chatter – LOOK!!!! OMI!!!! A FIRE ENGINE!!!!
Omi: Yes, and you’ll see the fire station in a moment, too.
Child: *Speechless with joy*
Omi: This is our stop now, up you get.
Child: That was a lucky bus ride, wasn’t it, Omi?
They got off, and the bus was once again a place of peace. I don’t know about my fellow passengers, but I had enjoyed the view over the lake, snowy mountains and all, the first lambs of the season, and the Swiss Fire Brigade much more intensively than I otherwise might have. We should travel with three-year-olds more often…