Some weekend rush by and leave you wondering, come Monday morning, what, if anything, you did.
This was not one of those weekends, which was more go-go than dancing in 1968. I'm tired just thinking about recounting it, so instead I'll duck my blogging responsibilities by saying we had a lot of fun, that two of the four of us did a fair bit of crying, that we soaked up the great weather, and that Julia put the stamp of surreality on the two days by telling me, with utmost seriousness, "Daddy, next time you eat a cheese stick, don't hurt my feelings."
Why did she say this? Stay tuned.