My grandest and only granddaughter, is the ultimate improviser, the queen of “yes, and…”. A plastic bag becomes a snake, everyone can be Spiderman and sling webs galore, and the son can mindmeld with the father to make him be a good guy who almost always becomes a bad guy at some point once more, an ogre, who fees and fies and foes and fums, and smell Englishmuns who make very good crushed bone bread. Perhaps we might say we had perfect grist from that mill. She ended up bargaining for a fistful of Wheat Thins and a fervent desire to go home, our Snow White (remember the snake) entering a hundred years of sleep, now fully recovered and ready to go again when she awakens at home.
