David’s father gave a beautiful toast at the wedding. He told us how much he loved us, and how much he already loved Jess, Dan’s wife, and how happy he was that she was now a part of our family. It wasn’t original, maybe, but it was felt, and it was wonderfully said. One thing I love about toasts is that they allow normal people to step forward and rip off their workaday clothes and throw their glasses away and say something beautiful and profound.

I’m afraid I’ll bore you, if I go on saying that things were truly wonderful, and beautiful, and that everyone loved each other. Sometimes it happens.

We were in Oregon. Out west. Before we went David said, Maybe we can take the boys to a rodeo and I said David, it isn’t the West, it’s the Northwest. Rodeos. Please. And roundly abused him for this idea. Meanwhile, there are rodeos everywhere in Oregon. We didn’t go to a rodeo, though. We went to a very depressing aquarium, where a dead shark lay on the bottom of the tank. The aquarium is also where, because of displays about the giant squid, John became obsessed with the dream of seeing a giant squid. Which has never been captured alive. Someday, maybe, his dream will be realized, although one hopes not at this aquarium, which needs to feed its fish or change their water or something.

We also went to the beach, where everyone set off firecrackers around us while we built a fire in the sand and handed the children long sharp skewers for roasting marshmallows. This was my quota of dangerous activities with the children for the next year or two.

Nothing bad happened.