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Rumi
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by John Knapp
September 2017 |
2017 was an exciting year. I found two new girl-friends, so don't tell Donna.
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Rumi and Navie
Am I ever lucky! About a year ago I moved into my condo; a cool, north-east facing apartment on the ground floor with a small outside patio. Last summer, I was on my patio setting up my garden table and chairs when I heard voices nearby – just above me. I looked up and there were two beautiful girls sunbathing on their balcony, smiling and looking down at me with an impish grin on their faces. I introduced myself, as did they. One was Rumi; the other, Navie. They were sisters. Compared to my ordinary moniker – John, they had very interesting and unusual names. Unusual, but suited to two pretty girls. We talked for a few minutes but they were soon called away to other pursuits. I was going to enjoy having these two as my immediate neighbours. |
Our paths didn’t cross again until a couple of weeks later when they hustled into my elevator just before the door closed. I was laden with groceries from Thrifty’s. They were laughing happily and looked like they had just come from the beach; both wearing tank-tops and short-shorts. Very cute. Very summery. There was even a slight aroma of Aveeno or Coppertone in the air.
They saw me, were slightly startled, and became a little subdued and quiet. I noticed that Rumi was the braver of the two, a little more forward than her sister, Navie. Navie sub-consciously sidled behind her sister a little, her eyes sort of peaking over Rumi’s shoulder at me. Rumi was a little taller.
I’m not the most suave and worldly individual when presented with a situation like this. I smiled; said, “Hi!”, and suddenly, without warning, I blurted it out. I had the audacity to ask Rumi her age. The words just came out of my mouth. I don’t know what made me do it. The way to a girl’s heart certainly doesn’t include the question, “How old are you?” I knew that! This was going to get embarrassing…for me.
Rumi blinked once and slowly began to raise her left hand. Okay! I was going to get the finger. I deserved it. Sure enough, up came a finger. But what? Up came a second finger. Oh, no! This was going to get worse. These girls were British, and Rumi was about to give me the British gesture equal to our ‘finger’ but a little meaner, ‘two fingers’. That meant she was very angry with me. I sighed despondently, having just ruined a possible budding friendship.
More happened! A third finger came up. What was this? Then a fourth. A huge smile came across Rumi’s face as she thrust the four fingers towards me and loudly proclaimed, “I’m four!”
From over Rumi’s shoulder, Navie poked her head up, along with two fingers, and said in a quieter voice, “I’m two.” Navie was actually peeking out from behind Mommy’s legs. Did I not mention that their mother, Julia, was also in the elevator with us?
Crisis over! Possible budding friendships still intact.
However, I mustn’t get my hopes up too high. To me, a friend is someone who likes me and I like them. A friend probably runs in my social circle, or at least empathizes with my perspectives on life – even if not always agreeing with my point of view. A friend is someone who understands my foibles and listens to my gripes and whines, as long as I listen to their’s too. A friend is someone who likes dining out with me at times, particularly to enjoy some variety of Asian curry. A friend of mine is someone who shares my dislike of Merlot and my enjoyment of Pinot Grigio.
I could hardly expect to build such a friendship as that with Rumi and Navie. They were four and two. I was seventy-five. Our social circles would never dovetail together. I had to be content if we could share even a small part of my first description above – that they liked me and I liked them.
They saw me, were slightly startled, and became a little subdued and quiet. I noticed that Rumi was the braver of the two, a little more forward than her sister, Navie. Navie sub-consciously sidled behind her sister a little, her eyes sort of peaking over Rumi’s shoulder at me. Rumi was a little taller.
I’m not the most suave and worldly individual when presented with a situation like this. I smiled; said, “Hi!”, and suddenly, without warning, I blurted it out. I had the audacity to ask Rumi her age. The words just came out of my mouth. I don’t know what made me do it. The way to a girl’s heart certainly doesn’t include the question, “How old are you?” I knew that! This was going to get embarrassing…for me.
Rumi blinked once and slowly began to raise her left hand. Okay! I was going to get the finger. I deserved it. Sure enough, up came a finger. But what? Up came a second finger. Oh, no! This was going to get worse. These girls were British, and Rumi was about to give me the British gesture equal to our ‘finger’ but a little meaner, ‘two fingers’. That meant she was very angry with me. I sighed despondently, having just ruined a possible budding friendship.
More happened! A third finger came up. What was this? Then a fourth. A huge smile came across Rumi’s face as she thrust the four fingers towards me and loudly proclaimed, “I’m four!”
From over Rumi’s shoulder, Navie poked her head up, along with two fingers, and said in a quieter voice, “I’m two.” Navie was actually peeking out from behind Mommy’s legs. Did I not mention that their mother, Julia, was also in the elevator with us?
Crisis over! Possible budding friendships still intact.
However, I mustn’t get my hopes up too high. To me, a friend is someone who likes me and I like them. A friend probably runs in my social circle, or at least empathizes with my perspectives on life – even if not always agreeing with my point of view. A friend is someone who understands my foibles and listens to my gripes and whines, as long as I listen to their’s too. A friend is someone who likes dining out with me at times, particularly to enjoy some variety of Asian curry. A friend of mine is someone who shares my dislike of Merlot and my enjoyment of Pinot Grigio.
I could hardly expect to build such a friendship as that with Rumi and Navie. They were four and two. I was seventy-five. Our social circles would never dovetail together. I had to be content if we could share even a small part of my first description above – that they liked me and I liked them.
----New Experiences----
So, my first year in my new condo began well. I soon learned that Rumi and Navie’s bedroom was immediately above my office. Their apartment was directly above mine so I knew that the basic designs were identical. My office was billed as a second bedroom, therefore it was an obvious, not too difficult discovery of mine; their bedroom was above my office. Over this past year, there have been other clues.
The first clue came when, at seven in the evening, just about Navie’s probable bedtime, I was in my office, concentrating on a difficult paragraph in the writing of ‘Donna’s Story’. Suddenly, in a quiet moment, I heard “Whrrrrrrr!” accompanied with a little vibration. I stopped writing. Another “Whrrrrrrr!” What was going on? My analytical mind leaped into action. What was it? Another “Whrrrrrrr!” First my head, then my whole body, began to vibrate, synchronously with the “Whrrrrrrr!”
Eventually, I figured it out. Someone was tweaking that small, spring loaded door stop that is fastened to all the baseboards in my entire condo complex. We all tweak that door stop once in a while and it can unexpectedly bring a smile to your face. It even sounds funny…sometimes.
I assumed this was Navie, happily tweaking the door stop in her bedroom, time, after time, after time. Constantly for about a half hour before she finally stopped, having added that fun game to her growing repertoire of life’s new adventures. She’s only two with plenty of room in her brain for new experiences. I assumed it was Navie, and not Rumi, guessing that this activity entered Rumi’s collection of ‘life’s adventures’ a couple of years earlier.
However, it might have been Rumi. I know now, that Rumi is head-strong, and looking back, had she been a little angry with Julia or Tim that day, this might easily have been her calculated thorn-in-the-side, so to speak, intended to raise parental ire. If that had indeed been Rumi’s intention, you can take it from me that, after half an hour, her objectives would have been achieved. In any case, it was not intended for me so I forgot about writing any more that day and turned on the TV. I trust I didn’t have the volume too high, although…..
----New Age Alarm Clocks----
Over the following months, to my surprise, I learned of a fallacy that is widely believed by all who have the experience of raising children. The myth is, “Children typically go from crawling to walking at around one year of age.” That’s not quite true.
I, who have no experience raising children of my own, have learned the true reality to be, “Children typically go from crawling to running at around one year of age.” Walking isn’t learned for another three or four years.
Each day, at some time between 7:00 and 8:00 AM, I was wakened by my new alarm clock – the sounds of running feet. Two pairs of feet – at least two pairs. Some days I would swear there were more. Perhaps Navie had to make a return trip because she forgot her teddy-bear. I’m fairly certain those running feet did not belong to Mom and Dad.
All of that was okay with me because I don’t sleep past 7:00 AM, with or without benefit of the alarm system. The way I saw it was, Rumi and Navie, when they woke up, had to make sure that Mommy and Daddy were still there. So they ran as fast as they could. When they saw Mom and Dad, they jumped into bed and got all snuggly and comfy. I know because that’s what I did at their age. So did all my brothers and sisters.
However, for me in the apartment below, I heard every footstep. That was my alarm system. I never heard any voices or other sounds from above, just Rumi and Navie’s footsteps. Thump, thump, thump, thump.
How many thump-thumps should I include? Bill Withers repeated “I know” nineteen times in his song ‘Ain’t no Sunshine’. Maybe I should put nineteen ‘thumps’ in this sentence to create the right sense of reality.
My point is that they were running with their weight on their heels. That is a ‘No-no’! Had they no ballet training? Budding young ladies should be very delicate; their weight concentrated on the ‘balls’ of their feet. That’s what my wife, Donna, always told me. I must speak to Mom and Dad.
Or maybe it’s none of my business.
It’s a year later now, and my alarm clock is not as consistent as it once was, always waking me between 7:00 and 8:00. I can barely hear the girl’s footsteps as they check out Mom and Dad in the mornings. Rumi is now five. She has learned how to walk. Navie is only three, but she is undoubtedly trying her best to emulate her older, and much wiser, sister. The ‘run’ from their bedroom to Mom and Dad’s room is now less of a race, more sophisticated as befits a young woman of Rumi’s experience. They are more confident that Mom and Dad will be there when they arrive and maybe Rumi, now being five, thinks “Is it cool to jump into bed with Mom and Dad now that I’m five? Maybe I should leave that to Navie.”
A short pause for Rumi’s probable reflection. “Not on your life! Navie’s not getting any extra hugs that I don’t get.” Growing up can be a real challenge at times.
I, who have no experience raising children of my own, have learned the true reality to be, “Children typically go from crawling to running at around one year of age.” Walking isn’t learned for another three or four years.
Each day, at some time between 7:00 and 8:00 AM, I was wakened by my new alarm clock – the sounds of running feet. Two pairs of feet – at least two pairs. Some days I would swear there were more. Perhaps Navie had to make a return trip because she forgot her teddy-bear. I’m fairly certain those running feet did not belong to Mom and Dad.
All of that was okay with me because I don’t sleep past 7:00 AM, with or without benefit of the alarm system. The way I saw it was, Rumi and Navie, when they woke up, had to make sure that Mommy and Daddy were still there. So they ran as fast as they could. When they saw Mom and Dad, they jumped into bed and got all snuggly and comfy. I know because that’s what I did at their age. So did all my brothers and sisters.
However, for me in the apartment below, I heard every footstep. That was my alarm system. I never heard any voices or other sounds from above, just Rumi and Navie’s footsteps. Thump, thump, thump, thump.
How many thump-thumps should I include? Bill Withers repeated “I know” nineteen times in his song ‘Ain’t no Sunshine’. Maybe I should put nineteen ‘thumps’ in this sentence to create the right sense of reality.
My point is that they were running with their weight on their heels. That is a ‘No-no’! Had they no ballet training? Budding young ladies should be very delicate; their weight concentrated on the ‘balls’ of their feet. That’s what my wife, Donna, always told me. I must speak to Mom and Dad.
Or maybe it’s none of my business.
It’s a year later now, and my alarm clock is not as consistent as it once was, always waking me between 7:00 and 8:00. I can barely hear the girl’s footsteps as they check out Mom and Dad in the mornings. Rumi is now five. She has learned how to walk. Navie is only three, but she is undoubtedly trying her best to emulate her older, and much wiser, sister. The ‘run’ from their bedroom to Mom and Dad’s room is now less of a race, more sophisticated as befits a young woman of Rumi’s experience. They are more confident that Mom and Dad will be there when they arrive and maybe Rumi, now being five, thinks “Is it cool to jump into bed with Mom and Dad now that I’m five? Maybe I should leave that to Navie.”
A short pause for Rumi’s probable reflection. “Not on your life! Navie’s not getting any extra hugs that I don’t get.” Growing up can be a real challenge at times.
----New Sounds----
I have never had the experience of children of my own. My wife, Donna, and I have nearly always lived in communities where there have been very few children in our neighbourhood. Where I now live there are approximately fifty-six families in my condo unit, with three other condo units within a stone’s throw of my office window. Plus, there are at least fifty town-homes here too. These condos and town-homes appeal mainly to young couples who are just beginning to raise their families. There are probably fifty young preschool-age children and at times, I would swear all fifty of them are playing just outside my apartment.
Thirty feet outside my office window there is a small playground, central to the whole community. It is the perfect place for parents to bring their children to play, while providing an opportunity for those parents to meet and enjoy each other’s company. All of this makes for a very safe, warm and friendly neighbourhood.
And, of course, when Grandma and Grandpa visit, it’s their duty to baby-sit the little ones as they climb the steps and slither excitedly down the playground slide into Mom’s arms – or Grandma’s arms. At the top of the slide there is this annoying little bell with a dull, clunky ring. For some reason, that bell has to be rung repeatedly by every blessed child who uses the slide. It serves no purpose other than to make a noise – and perhaps to irritate close neighbours. Ah well! Maybe, one dark night I will go over to the playground, armed with my trusty screwdriver, and dismantle that obnoxious bell.
The playground is always full of children having fun. I have learned of another anomaly about children, similar to the ‘walking vs. running’ I mentioned above. I notice that the little ones don’t learn to talk until four or five years old. During those earlier years, particularly on the playground, everything is spoken in a yell, at the top decibels that their lungs can produce.
(If you think that I am complaining through all of these little anecdotes, you can forget it. These are the sounds of life, and they are very comforting.)
----New Ways to Have Fun----
The playground is in use virtually every day – even in the winter. Last year, we had a snowfall that left the playground and the slide under about ten inches of snow. You would naturally think that would have put ‘paid’ to the enjoyment of the little ones. Not so! One by one, little fur covered snow-bunnies emerged from the woodwork of the surrounding apartments to come to the playground, maybe to throw snow-balls at each other, or maybe just to make angels in the snow, or, with Daddy’s help, make a huge snowman. I noticed that Moms and Dads like playing in the snow, too.
After a short while, one resourceful father simply loosened the snow at the top of the slide, whereupon the snow all slid down to the end, creating a huge, soft mound of snow at the foot. Before you knew it, running to the slide were dozens of little round balls of fur, complete with gloves poking out one end, boots poking out the other, faces glowing and eyes sparkling. They clumsily hobbled their way up the stairs, rang that annoying little bell, and took to the slide. Each little ball of fur ended up buried in the snow-bank at the bottom. All done to peals of joyous laughter as Grandpa pulled them out of the snow-bank and wiped the snow from their faces. He had to act quickly. They were soon up, racing back to the stairs to do it all again, and again.
And, of course, Rumi and Navie were there, too. I was not able to recognize either girl in that snowball party, but I’m sure they were there; everyone was there.
----Some Reflections----
Over time I have begun to distinguish the voices of Rumi and Navie from the fifty or more other children. When I first saw those two over in the playground, racing here, racing there, burning all that energy, I thought to myself, “Good! Maybe tonight, there will be no doorstop tweaking, and I will be able to work until gone seven PM.” But, I had another lesson to learn about children. Regardless of the amount of physical exercise they get during the day, they don’t get tired. It exhausted me just watching them in the playground. Don’t children ever get tired? When do children get tired?
Sometimes I worry that I am being a little voyeuristic, peeking out the corner of my office window to watch all the children having so much fun but it does so much to lift my spirits that I am thankful the opportunity is mine to enjoy.
----A New Visitor----
Our community of many different buildings is interlaced with walkways lined with shrubs, rhodos and trees, so people can easily walk between the buildings to the shops and park nearby. Some of the walks are also bordered by blackberry brambles, laden with ripe fruit at this time of year. But not just people use those walkways.
Yesterday, we had an alarming event that was a little scary. It was a sunny day and the playground was full of little ones, along with some parents and guardians. It was close to dinner time and the smell of barbecue was in the air. I was sitting in my office when I caught sight of a big black bear trundling down the walkway, twenty feet from my window, ten feet from the children. Nobody in the playground could see him coming.
I jumped up and hurried out to my patio to warn folks. No need! The bear just continued on past the playground, paying no attention to the laughter, etc. emanating from the children. That huge bruin was a giant – must have weighed 500 pounds. He ambled by, crossed the street and found another walkway. A few minutes later that walkway brought him back to the street. He turned, found yet another walkway and disappeared from everyone’s view.
In addition to the playground full of children, there were moms and dads on the street pushing strollers. Others were walking their dogs. I couldn’t believe it. There was no panic. No-one really worried too much about our visitor. We all just blinked and stared at each other as the bear slowly lumbered along, and eventually took the walkway that would lead him back to the wild habitat at the end of the nearby park. I hoped that anyone on that walkway at the time would have the smarts to stay out of the bear’s way. I have heard of no incidents.
It is difficult for the bears and other wildlife. We humans are encroaching on their habitat – a habitat that dwindles with every new home that is built.
----More Reflections----
This past year has been a joy, seeing all the children as their personalities develop and their friendships with each other build and grow. It has given me time to reflect on the statement I made above how a friendship might brew between me, a seventy-five year old codger, and two, very young tiny ones – Rumi and Navie.
My brain is full of stuff. Not much room for new experiences. Every new event, like meeting Rumi and Navie, is an event that I cherish and appreciate.
On the other hand, to Rumi and Navie, the world is a new and exciting place. Their brains are not full of junk like mine. Every day offers them new opportunities and there is so much to see, so much to do, so much to enjoy. Their five senses are just a-tingle with new expectations. Friendship with others is one of the most exciting and comforting experiences in their programme of discovery. There are simply too many things to enjoy in their fresh new lives to spend much time thinking about an old codger they don’t really understand. I am content. They are comfortable around me and enjoy talking to me, telling me of their latest exploits whenever we meet.
For Rumi and Navie, their first and deepest friendship is their love for Mom and Dad, obviously. Next is their love for each other followed closely by their love for Grandma and Grandpa.
After about two years, they begin to notice all the others about their age, playing just outside their bedroom window. It’s time to make new friends.
This past year has been a joy, seeing all the children as their personalities develop and their friendships with each other build and grow. It has given me time to reflect on the statement I made above how a friendship might brew between me, a seventy-five year old codger, and two, very young tiny ones – Rumi and Navie.
My brain is full of stuff. Not much room for new experiences. Every new event, like meeting Rumi and Navie, is an event that I cherish and appreciate.
On the other hand, to Rumi and Navie, the world is a new and exciting place. Their brains are not full of junk like mine. Every day offers them new opportunities and there is so much to see, so much to do, so much to enjoy. Their five senses are just a-tingle with new expectations. Friendship with others is one of the most exciting and comforting experiences in their programme of discovery. There are simply too many things to enjoy in their fresh new lives to spend much time thinking about an old codger they don’t really understand. I am content. They are comfortable around me and enjoy talking to me, telling me of their latest exploits whenever we meet.
For Rumi and Navie, their first and deepest friendship is their love for Mom and Dad, obviously. Next is their love for each other followed closely by their love for Grandma and Grandpa.
After about two years, they begin to notice all the others about their age, playing just outside their bedroom window. It’s time to make new friends.
----Navie’s Premier Performance----
I must set this next scene a little.
I have told you that Rumi and Navie are on the second floor, living just above me. Next to my office and next to their apartment, there is a stairway down from the floors above. It is a favourite way for people to come down, out the door, over to the various walkways and to the playground. This stairway offers a way down to the outside but, due to building security, it does not offer a way back in. Those using the stair have to remember to bring their key and fob so they can come around to the main entrance to gain entry. Naturally, this complexity is beyond the ken of all the small children who visit the playground, so children from our condo, particularly the younger ones, come to the playground accompanied by one or other of their parents.
One day, at the beginning of this summer, our weather cleared, the sun was finally shining as the temperatures rose, children were playing, and it was obviously a perfect day to make some new friends. I was, as usual, in my office, sending emails, writing stories, or maybe just playing cribbage with my internet buddy – Bill. Suddenly the door at the foot of the stairway crashed open, slamming against the door guards, causing significant noise and vibration in that corner of my office. Everybody who comes through that door does so in the same way. Crash! It bangs open. Crash! It bangs again as it closes.
This time, out of the door came running…Navie! The door slammed shut so she had no way to get back home, but that was my worry, not hers. She ran the fifteen feet to the walkway, then stopped. At that point on the path, she was bathed in a pool of sunlight. At first glimpse you might have thought she was on-stage where the spotlight of the sun suddenly illuminated her. She threw her hands in the air, as though preparing to bless the unruly masses below, or maybe she thought she was Barbra Streisand, or Beyoncé, getting ready to belt forth an ever popular song known to everyone in her audience. Slowly, she turned around and around, with a huge look of joy on her face; the sun giving her an unbelievable glow. She didn’t have a stich of clothing on. Clearly, she slipped out of their apartment without Mom noticing, and raced at top speed, down to that special pool of sunlight. This was a new day. There were new experiences to be enjoyed. Why wait?
So where was Mom? Julia kept a cool head. Within no more than two minutes, the stairway door opened again, this time without a crash, and out came Mom with Rumi in tow. Mom had remembered to bring her key and fob and also carried a gigantic beach towel. Without uttering a word, without exhibiting that frightening feeling that must have been in her heart, she kept a smile on her face as she scooped up her little miscreant and wrapped her in the towel like she was in a cocoon. The last I saw was Mom, walking away with a smile on her face; Rumi attached to her left arm, probably with a very gentle, yet steel-like grip, and Navie, barely visible in her cocoon, clamped firmly in Mom’s right arm.
----New Ways to Party----
It has been a very entertaining year, with dozens of small adventures, events, incidents, wonders and celebrations; all emanating from my very own private theatre – the playground that is barely thirty feet away. Squeals and laughter enter my office window almost every day, all delivered at top volume and with incredible enthusiasm.
On occasion, accidents do occur, resulting in a short lived banshee like wail that far exceeds the decibel level from all the other happy children put together. That only lasts for minutes before Mom, or Grandma, steps in with a big kiss and a monster, oversized bandage to cover the ‘owwee’. That ‘owwee’ soon becomes a symbol of stature amongst their new friends.
It is particularly interesting on the days with birthday celebrations. Suddenly, there are thirty or forty toddlers, done up in their best frocks, their “Sunday, goin’ to meetin’ clothes” as we used to call it in my youth. Or perhaps this is a dress-up Halloween party, everyone in costumes from the latest Disney epic. What excitement! And I just marvel at the super-human hostess that has the inner strength and energy to tackle, what to me is a nearly suicidal mission – keeping thirty or forty tiny ones entertained, fed, calm(ish), reasonably clean (except for cake icing) and happy over a two hour period. I live in fear of the day that someone invites me to one of those parties. I needn’t worry. That’ll never happen.
----Rumi’s ‘Merry Men’----
But I must remember that this is essentially a story about my new friends, Rumi and Navie. I have related the incident about Navie’s first stage appearance under the sun’s spotlight. I would like to end with some observations about Rumi.
I have told you that Rumi is fairly head-strong. In fact, I think she is the CEO, the ‘Robin Hood’ of her band of ‘Merry Men’. Over this year, since I have observed Rumi making friends in the playground, I have learned some truths about leadership. Some people are born to lead. Others have leadership thrust upon them. Rumi has both. She’s their natural leader. If Rumi is not in the playground, I might see one or two playground-ers come over to the wrought iron railing separating the playground from the ramp to the parkade that lies between them and our building. They will climb up on the railing, dangerously close to teetering into the abyss of the cement parkade, and begin hollering to Rumi up on the second floor, to ask her if she is coming down, or ask her advice or permission for whatever their concern might be. Rumi inevitably hurries out to her balcony and issues the appropriate set of instructions. I know it’s Rumi; her voice is very distinctive.
Just the other day I witnessed a variation on the theme of playground-ers calling up to Rumi. A tiny tot, no more than three, was riding her trike along the walkway when she stopped, seemed to stare at me in my office, then looked up to Rumi and Navie’s bedroom. She uttered this one comment then rode away. “Navie! Are you sure you should be doing that?” I leave your imagination to wonder what Navie might have been doing.
I also have another observation that you might think peculiar but you must understand that it’s in the forefront of my mind. My wife, Donna, is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease and is in a local residential care facility today. She is an ex-dancer and is always tapping her feet. There is always a song coursing through her brain, and she is always happy. In her past life she was usually fairly quiet and demure.
Today, Donna spends most of her time issuing instructions to me, her nursing staff and her co-residents. Clearly, she has had the role of leadership thrust upon her. My observation is that Donna exhibits behaviour very similar to a four or five year old child; behaviour very similar to Rumi. There is one difference however. Rumi exercises her managerial skills wisely. She clearly understands about discipline and reward, and recognizes that she is not yet quite at the top of the food chain. There are times when Mom and Dad still know best.
----One More Reflection----
As time goes forward, I shall continue to enjoy my time in my office, at my computer, writing stories, done to the accompaniment of ‘Sounds of the Playground’. But I see that my new neighbourhood is best suited to young families. As Rumi and Navie grow older and start school, it is likely that Tim and Julia will plan to move to a different home, with a little more space and a garden of their own.
I have the experience of two sisters. Growing up in our home those many years ago, it was blatantly apparent that two sisters could not possibly share the same bedroom for very long.
I shall miss my new friends, Rumi and Navie.
