When I look back into the past I can not locate the moment at which I first discovered the novelist Mary Stewart. In the days when, as teenagers, we would make weekly family trips to the library I was always happy to discover one of her novels unfamiliar and unread. In later years the delight came from rediscovering one to read again. I must have read all of her novels ten times over or more.
Sunday was Mother’s Day here in America. It was a very sweet celebration this year. My daughter and her classmates sang songs about us; we were heroes, monster slayers and teddy bears while my son’s witty and heartfelt card made me smile in a way that hasn’t left me all week. It seemed somehow not quite right to sit for a meal and so we all piled into the car and drove down to Dog Beach.
We’ve said goodbye to family for now and once again an ocean separates us. I was coming back from the airport a few days ago and the late afternoon traffic dictated that I avoid the freeway. I drove towards home along one of my favorite stretches of road which takes you through Mar Vista, across Santa Monica and eventually meanders into Brentwood.
