Shopping frenzy

People's faces light up when they see Elliott on his shopping expeditions to Reading Terminal Market. He'll wheel his trolley around while reciting our shopping list, usually making at least one unsanctioned addition: "Hmm, need veggies. Hmm, need tea. Hmm, need fig bar."

Spooky Miss Shelby

Elliott knows two cats here in the United States: Spooky, who belongs to his friend Lucca; and Miss Shelby, housemate of our Boston host Juan. Since making their acquaintance, he has elevated the cat skittle in his bowling set to companion status and christened her Spooky Miss Shelby. She joined us on our Sunday outing to Headhouse Farmers' Market.

Sandpit

ZoomDance, Elliott's usual Tuesday afternoon entertainment, is on summer hiatus but he continues to catches up with his friends from the class most Tuesday afternoons. An earlier post shows him digging in the community garden with his ZoomDance "bromance" (Americanism for straight male friendship) Lucca. Here, more digging, an endeavour to be taken seriously in Elliott's view, this time in Mira and Adrie's backyard sandpit.

Cobblestone lane

Philadelphia's Center City residential neighbourhoods are criss-crossed by pedestrian-only cobblestone lanes like this one. Elliott loves to explore Quince St, which usually involves searching for squirrels and sitting on each and every stoop he passes.

Boston slide

Elliott's favourite playground equipment? Slides, of course! This one is in a playground next to Zaftigs, a popular Jewish deli in Boston.

Independence Day

Elliott celebrated Independence Day in Boston with his down-the-hall friend Valentina, whose uncle lives in "Beantown", as it's know here. Juan kindly (or maybe naively) surrendered his home and enviably civilised lifestyle to accommodate the bambinos and their entourage for the long weekend. Here, Elliott's on the Charles River Esplanande where thousands of people had already gathered ahead of the annual July 4 fireworks display and free concert, this year featuring Neil Diamond. We stopped on the foreshore on Saturday afternoon to rest our feet (next time H proposes a walking tour, she'll likely be voted down in about two seconds due to her wayward perception of what constitutes a short stroll). The vista was beguiling, the crowd unnervingly sober (what happens, at a guess, when your city was founded by Puritans rather than convicted felons) and the Italian sweets, purchased at Mike's Pastry in Boston's Italian district, sugary enough to induce a diabetic coma.