Twiggy

    In dreams last night, I had two wives. I guess I was affected by the old-time radio shows I listen to all night, where many plots hinge on memory problems, because I didn't remember having the first wife until I was with the second one. More alarmingly, I had a twig- or toothpick-tree growing out of my man-part. (What does that mean, Dr. Freud?) Fortunately it pulled right out, no harm done, and I'm not sure I was alarmed enough to wake up. Nor do I remember what the first or second wife thought about it. As ever, I suspect that it just meant that in real life I needed to go to the bathroom.
    Family is coming down for Father's Day from Boston, including the grand-niece/ Dad's great-granddaughter. We are prepared to be awed and awwwwwwwwwwed. Hopefully, the weather will co-operate. We have returned to the traditional summer pattern of the 4 pm cloudburst, which is delightful if you're inside, but really takes a bite out of your day if you need to be anywhere, especially when there's a flash flood watch everyday and you (or rather I) live in an area surrounded by flash-flood-prone streets. Crossing fingers. Indications are that rather than dragging Dad all over the place, we're likely to go out for dinner as siblings and then bring him and Margaret takeout, which works for them, too, since they usually like to eat later than we do. So fun restaurants may be on tap, too!