What makes a better Mother's Day than a picnic?
I contemplated this while driving down Sunset Blvd tonight, the big ol' moon silhouetted behind the palm trees, on one of those nights in LA when you feel true glee at being alive in the smoggiest city in the United States (it's true, it was listed today).
Think about this:
A roast chicken, some hummus (lovingly made, in our case, by the Maharishi, a true Lebanese purist when it comes to the blending of garbanzo beans, garlic, lemon juice, tahini and olive oil), some Arabic bread, some bright, sweet, red tomatoes, a punnet of sweet strawberries, a little Sancerre, a pretty tablecloth, the children (let's pretend for a moment that they're not too old and reluctant), a couple of dogs for good measure.
Think about Solstice Canyon (or insert your happy place of choice here), the sycamore trees, light filtering through, a field of long grass and clover (before the summer bake). A tree to climb. Lying on your back and staring at the sun (sometimes between your fingers). A football. All cynicism thrown out with the wind that whooshes by as you drive with windows open down Pacific Coast Highway.
What could be better?
What, I ask you, could be better than a picnic to revive your faith in the world?
I'd throw in a piano, some songs, some silliness, but unfortunately that brings to mind a misty-lensed 70s video for an Elton John song or the original Coke commercial (do you remember the New Seekers?) and a very impractical appreciation for what it takes to lug a piano all the way up the coast.
It's you, your beloveds, and the cathedral of trees.
Is there really anything better in the world?