We were sitting at the breakfast table (which bears an uncanny resemblance to the dining table). I was leafing through a glossy book of illustrations from homes that are so lavish that my home, and any home that I could build, would barely serve as an outbuilding. Not to say that they were not lovely homes -- they are; just not likely to be seen on any planet I might visit.
At one point, I read the description of an architect's technique of building houses as a series of small interconnected houses, each having one or two rooms, so that you could experience a sense of delight moving from room to room. My wife asked our daughter, who was deep into reading Dragonsinger as she munched on a French toast stick, if she ever felt delight moving through our house. She held up a finger as she delicately bit off half the stick, put the book down, got to her feet, and sprang into the living room, saying "Yippee! Yippee!" as she bounded around the circle through the living room, into the kitchen, and back to the table. Whereupon she nodded solemnly, sat, and resumed reading.
Is this a great kid, or what?
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