Vrooooom

Somebody should've filmed yesterday's adventure at Costco. We would all be viral by now. Mummy P. insisted on driving the little electric cart that they provide for people who are unable to walk through the aisles. The cart has two speeds: very fast and immediate brake. At Costco, when people see someone offering a taste of free food they run in front of you to go grab some. If the driver of your electric vehicle is blind, she doesn't see the people running in front of the cart, nor do the Costco workers stocking the shelves present a barrier of any kind to her.

She ran over Plotnik's foot twice, all the while insisting to know "why did we come here anyway? Why are we buying that? We don't need that. Why did we come here? Don't buy that." Vrooooom.

We didn't kill anybody, and here, in the land of diminished expectations, this goes in the ledger with a checkmark under 'successful day.'

Stiletto City is beautiful in late March, Plotnik has to admit that. Every flowering tree is exploding, every bulb is bursting forth, every fence is covered with Jasmine or bougainvillea. Even the succulents, and the azaleas, and Gawamighty the amazing clivia, bouguets of orange wave themselves in the air like an audition of drunken, strapping green cheerleaders. Latinos mow, prune, plant, clip, wash. This neighborhood, where the Chief and Mummy P moved in 1966, then dusty and flowerless, without charm, and probably half Jewish, now is becoming Russian, and treed, and flowered, and orderly, and if it weren't for Latinos not one damn thing would ever get done here.

She repeats herself. A lot. I don't know how you get used to it. I don't know how Lillian and Gloria can manage. We must celebrate caregivers. They bring life to those who used to do the same for others, but no longer can. Lillian and Gloria are saints, that's all there is to it. Period.

"Why did we come here? Why are we buying that?" Because, Mom. Because. Vrooooom.