I’m off the booze. My daughter insists that I walk her down the aisle – not vice versa

The vicissitudes of getting old are linked to the mystical innocence of childhood as one daydreams the precious time away. I’m a daydreamer par excellence, and lately I’ve been thinking non-stop about my daughter. She’s getting married this week and I’m off to London for the festivities. Solipsist that I am, it’s nice to think of others for a change. It’s the nature of prestidigitation to mix one’s self and one’s children — I’ve got one of each — and I thank my stars that there’s only one bride, as I read with amusement that three gals in Massachusetts exchanged vows although no state in America has yet to pass a law that three can get hitched. (Not to worry, it’s bound to come. And why only three?)

Yes, time passes without mercy and I think of Lolly as a baby and then as a young girl, mostly haranguing me about being an absent father.