We took K’s mother, J, downtown for a bit of walking, a bit of window shopping, and a latte.

We took her to the Grove Arcade and showed her patchwork quilts, grandfather clocks, and over-priced souvenirs.

She liked the spiral staircases the most — the staircases that are closed to the public and apparently for decoration only.

We took her to the gallery where we used to have photographs for sale. (In six months we sold about as many photos. We were hoping to earn enough money to help pay for a new DSLR. In the end, we just wasted enough money to buy the camera outright — but we learned something from the experience: the majority of Americans, it seems, prefers kitsche.) She was impressed with the goats-milk soap and various crocheted items.

We took her to see the largest iron in the world.

Finally, we took her for a bit of cake and a cappuccino (or latte, in K’s and my case). J is used to the “Celebrate the moments of your life” type of “cappuccino” that comes in little sachets. We got her to forget that syrupy mess and try a real one. “Okay,” she said, “But none of that vanilla nonsense. No almond nonsense. No flavors.”

I just smiled.

In the end, the cappuccino and latte got mixed up (K wanted decaf latte and the waiter brought decaf cappuccino), but I don’t think she noticed…