17Mom was in a good mood, finally, because we’d been invited to a fundraiser for Lama Yeshe. She wore a maroon silk blouse and frowned a bit when I put on a blouse with bluebirds and a plaid skirt.
“Can’t you put on that little black dress I bought you?”
“Mom, I told you I’d never wear it. Please don’t criticize my taste.” I knew that would sell. She didn’t believe in squelching my creativity.
The fundraiser was at a house on a cliff above the ocean, in Pacific Palisades. Huge glass windows full of sky and sea, all white furniture with a few scattered Buddha sculptures.
Lama Yeshe was in the living room with a woman in a golden sari. He stood to greet us. We held hands and touched heads gently. Then he introduced us to his sister, Dawa, who sat on the couch, holding a six-month-old bab
