“Got it!” I exclaim to everyone else’s consternation at the dinner table. I bolt from my chair, down the hall, take a flying right turn into my bedroom, grab some paper, scribble madly—rats, my pen is out of ink!—find another pen, scribble madly, and calmly walk back to the dinner table. Everyone is still staring at me, mouths handing to the table.
“What was that?” My dad asks.

Thoughts on a cloudy day