I dreamed last night that we had moved away from the river to the bank of a small and not very pretty stagnant lake.

I have been threatened, terrified, mortified, delighted, and sexually gratified in dreams, but I don't think I've ever been so disappointed.

UPDATE: I think I can tell you why.

Last night Lyman and I made cream of chicken with artichoke soup.

This morning I called my gay brother to invite him to pick some up. He doesn't cook much, usually eats lunch out, and likes a light meal for supper.

Lyman's Southern Baptist dad came in the afternoon, and asked, "What's left over?" So I heated a bowl of soup for him. He picked up the Baton Rouge Advocate and started to eat.

Charles walked in and greeted us. Lyman's dad said, "Sorry, I'm eating it all up."

Charles sat down at the bar with Big Daddy, whereupon they proceeded to ask about each other, and talk about news. My brother picked up another section of the paper, and the two sat peacefully while I packed things for him.

They conversed some more, with Big Daddy offering Charles another of our satsumas. And so the simple afternoon went on, until it was time for Charles to walk his dog, and Big Daddy to go home to his wife.

And that is how life should be.