I am eternally ungrateful. Therefore, I must mention that we spent the most perfect Labor Day, doing everything but labor. The dogs and I hiked for two hours in the morning and they splashed through streams, leapt over logs, dived down ravines as I watched, realizing I haven't see the older one this happy since Briar was still here. After a languid afternoon of reading books under the awning, we biked around Balboa Park, stopping to ogle the model aircraft enthusiasts. (Twice this weekend, I've wanted to be invisible, with a camera - once at Venice Beach and once again, watching the motley collection of men lovingly polishing their planes, pilots and co-pilots walking with their toys as if showing a prize dog at Westminster). There are only three of us now and when I think about N being gone, especially on these days, the sunny ones, where tiny planes whizz in blue skies and girls with long brown legs ride bicycles hair blowing out behind them in the wind, it makes me wistful. A particularly sweet kind of wist, that is. Supper was under the stars, a vegetarian feast made by a graceful hostess who reminds me of a filmstar. And we talked politics, what else on this momentous weekend. Sarah Palin has become a punchline. (We live in a bubble of very left-ward thinking and I wish sometimes for more color and variety to these discussions.) "We are all in violent agreement" she said. But these people are smart. They read, they understand the rhythms of history. This weekend has been shambolic for the Republicans, however they spin it -- and dude, I know spin. It's my bid-niss. No sex education in schools? What? No, really. What? I don't think she's heartless. I just think she has lived in Alaska too long.
We come home, tired and happy and rosy-cheeked from the sun, and I flop myself into my bed and open up my inbox and I see that my son has finally accepted my friend request on Facebook. I burst into tears. I know.