The other day I woke up remembering scenes from Spirited Away and text from Claudine in Paris. This is so much more pleasant than waking up remembering that Donald Trump is president. I must try to program my falling asleep brain to do it more often.
(It's been fifty years since I first read the Claudine books. Ah, the summer of 1967. Expo. Pre-university. Everybody kept on playing Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club band. That's also when Markham Village first opened up, with Memory Lane where my comic-obsessed sister regularly hung out. All those buildings are closed and shuttered now, and chain-link fences cut off the entire street, both sides.)