9When I got home from school, Mom was lying on her big leather L-shaped couch, with her emerald green cashmere blanket and a stack of spiritual books in her lap. The Dalai Lama, A Course in Miracles and the Songs of David.
Mom called herself a Cry-Boo – a Christian Buddhist. She read a lot about meditation, but never really meditated, at least not for long – probably because she was antsy like me and couldn’t sit still.
“I think I’m coming down with something,” she said.
“I think you’ve been down with something for a while,” I replied.
The doorbell stepped on my line so I answered it.
“It’s the pharmacy delivering,” said Mom.
It wasn’t. It was Mom’s friend, Isabelle, my unofficial Godmother, who always liked to surprise us. She looked just like the French artist she was, with purple
