Mabel Watson Payne had owls on her romper and an octopus on her ankle when I called in to say hello this afternoon. She had only just awakened from a good afternoon nap.
We played quietly on the floor while her daddy prepared a warm-weather waking-up meal for her.
When enough broccoli bits and chicken bits had been consumed we got ourselves all packed up and took the underground to my place in the Mission, where my daughter (finishing her own work week) soon joined us.
And we all went out to a neon-lighted Mexican place where Mabel Watson Payne obligingly ate more broccoli bits and more chicken bits, plus a good many black beans out of her mother's burrito.
