On Living an Episode of "The Californians"

Sophie, Oliver and I just lived an episode of The Californians, with the added bonus of a huge tonic clonic seizure on Pico Boulevard where Oliver scrambled from the front seat to the back seat to help support Sophie as she jerked and strained against the seat-belt while I called out orders and stayed in the second lane, avoiding the usual wild swerves of impatient BMWs. Oliver clicked open Sophie's seat belt and let her fall onto his lap where she lay, still jerking, while he patted her and I glanced in the rear-view mirror and told him to make sure her airway is open there (which it was) and he told me she's fine, Mom, just keep driving, so that's what I did, although driving on Pico Boulevard from the west side to the east side is not really driving, it's just inching along, avoiding the aggressors, inch by inch, block by block, and at some point Sophie just lay spent in Oliver's lap and I said that I felt like crying, and Oliver said you should, Mom, you should just let it out, Mom. So I did cry, a little, and I told Oliver it was the traffic, it was the seizure, it was Pico Blvd and the BMWs, it was him having to do what he did and when he asked me what I would have done if he'd not been there, I told him I'd have swerved like a BMW and gotten over to the right lane and pulled over there on Pico Blvd or maybe taken a right? But you were here and you did as good a job as one could do and I am proud of you. The inimitable Los Angeles skyline rose up in front of us -- the people stacked in cars on Pico Blvd. -- and I noted it in my mind, its stark beauty against a mountain backdrop, ridiculous clouds floating by, a bit of haze, a sliver of paradise that you can drive toward and never reach because it drops -- right -- there -- and then it's just cars ahead of you.