Josh Brolin Instagram – Jet lag It isn’t a Sunday but the bells keep ringing. It’s dark but for the street lamps along the shore and the four-hundred year old church on the hill lit from below. Her tiny hand is enveloped by mine, and what ensues is a gross misunderstanding of relationship: “When I grow up, I mean a long time from now, when I get married, I want to marry Papa.” She squeezes my hand re-instigating a game we’ve created based somewhere between Morse code and the memory game: she’s squeezes once, I squeeze once; she squeezes three times, I squeeze three times, and so on. On our way up ancient stairs with two cats waiting at the top, an obstacle course playground to the left. We walk over together. She grabs the rope, walks the balance beam smiling, climbs from the ground floor playhouse through the hole to the second floor, and lifts up here arms in victory. We walk into the hotel room, sister and Mama in tow, close the door, turn on the the Dora soundtrack and dance long after the whole village has gone to sleep.