Mother's Day

I think Minky might be rather disappointed that we're not going to the Ashton Kutcher movie, a movie that I suggested early today, by the way, but I'd rather stay at home, after a good lunch of ham and brie and baguette from Le Pain Q and warm sweet tomatoes and Arnold Palmers. I have Inheritance of Loss to finish, the sun is shining, and the dog has managed to get stuck once again in the fenced area by the fig and olive trees. She's grumbling at me now. Not a fully fledged bark for help yet as I am close by but a polite cough and an imploring look in my direction. She knows I'm ignoring her. Minky has put away the lunch, tried a bit of the ricotta torte I bought on a whim and has retired to her room no doubt to watch more High School Musical. Many layers of sound accompany me here on the deck; so many that I have to stop and listen in order to detect each one - cars on Laurel Canyon, a distant burr of a plane, the wind chimes, the wind in the eucalyptus, many birds, the soft panting of the dog, acorns falling on the awning above me, voices in the canyon, Sunday afternoon music, a barking dog one canyon over. I know that sleeping is on the cards. There isn't anything much better than falling asleep under a tree on a Mother's Day afternoon. Lucky girl, right?