Today, truffles. This wasn’t the plan.
The plan was to take a drive, to visit my grandmother’s grave. But it’s been raining in Los Angeles, and last night at my aunt’s house we put our plans on hold. You see Grandma’s spot is on a hill, and my mother and her sister had some concerns, something to do with tumbling down a muddy slope.
“We could always sled down, whee,” I said, and my aunt laughed before she stopped abruptly, like she remembered something, because she had: her poodle had just eaten eight pretty sizable chocolate truffles, and that is serious business, doggy-death business, and she was feeling sad, sad as a peeled orange, and that meant she wasn’t allowed to laugh.
