I stumbled out the balcony door onto the hot terazzo, staring straight up into the clear light of the sun. Mom caught me by the arm."Son," she said," I always told you not to look into the eyes of the Sun." "But Momma," I answered, "That's where the fun is!" I moved to the balcony rail, disturbing a flock of seagulls who burst off the sand down below, pelting the sky like a hailstorm in reverse. I jumped back from the pink lizard that was creeping along the rail toward me, then realized it was Mom's hand."Hold Still, Blake Gallatin!" She shouted. She spread my eyelids with her fingers."Wow!'" she exclaimed, mixing horror and admiration,"You are tripping your ass off!"

She smiled, then held up a strange object."Look, Blakey! It's not a bodhran at all! Somebody sent me a Gibson Tiple! I didn't even know they made them! Remember when I would sing you to sleep with this..." I watched her press down the A chord, forming the word "Puff" with her lips. "No!! Mom!!" With speed I never knew I possessed, my hands shot out, catching the tiple by the neck, flinging it out off the balcony. For a second, the tiple seemed suspended in mid air against the bright ocean backdrop. Then the sky exploded, knocking me backwards over the Weber kettle and into a pot full of geraniums. I crawled over to Mom. She was unconscious, but she had a pulse.

Now they had made it personal. Using Mom's American Express card, I booked a flight to Missoula Montana.