It's Wednesday, Luka day. He's dropped off in the morning and stays with us until his Mom stops by to pick him up on her way home for work. He was two years old last week, and is every bit the handful that two-year-olds are reputed to be. Last time he was with us, he refused to nap until we strapped him in his car seat and drove him around Griffith Park. That put him off. So we were worried that this time might be the same, but here he is, snoring gently alongside me on the couch as I put the time to use with this entry in The Buddha Diaries. All it took was a couple of stories, and he snuggled down peacefully and dropped off. A half hour, thus far. We're hoping for at least an hour, so that he's well rested for the afternoon.
What a strange and unfamiliar place I'm finding myself in! I can't remember the last time I woke up in the morning without the slightest motivation to open up my laptop--other than to spend the usual half hour deleting the unwanted email traffic. Still, there it is. I'm not even particularly perturbed about it. I'd have expected by now to have the screaming heebie-jeebies. But no, I seem to be absurdly comfortable with my lack of motivation. Perhaps it's fifteen years of meditation practice paying off in the form of relative serenity. Perhaps it's jet lag--though I'd have expected that to have vanished after a couple of weeks. There's one part of my head telling me I ought to be worried; and another that seems content to snooze away like Luka. Curious, no? I'm thinking of watching one of those British mysteries on television until he wakes. Or should I just put my head back and snore alongside my grandson?